


Homicide's Legacy

by RoadrunnerGER



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, Suspense, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-04-22 21:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14317383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoadrunnerGER/pseuds/RoadrunnerGER
Summary: When Detective Carisi fails to return from running an errand, the squad is reeling to solve the case. Can they find him or will they have to mourn another of their own?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my new story. This is a WIP, and I can't guarantee how often I'll be able to update, but I'll do my best not to get stuck. It is set between season seventeen and eighteen.  
> Big thanks to User24601 for beta-reading!

In the criminal justice system, sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous.

In New York City, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies

are members of an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit.

These are their stories.

 

**Manhattan SVU**

**Thursday, June 23**

 

Another case closed.

After finishing up their reports, the detectives of Manhattan's Special Victims Unit called it a night. In Amanda Rollins' case, that meant going home where her daughter Jesse was waiting. For this reason, she declined when Odafin Tutuola asked his fellow detectives if they would join him for a drink. A small group left the bullpen with him and a part of her wished she could go with them.

“Feel like grabbing a pizza instead?”

Turning her head, she discovered her partner, Dominick Carisi Jr., stepping up behind her.

“I thought you'd go with the others,” she shrugged.

“That doesn't answer my question,” Carisi smirked. “So?”

“Pizza would be nice,” Rollins agreed, eyeing him closely as he rolled down his sleeves and buttoned them up before he shrugged his jacket back on. The light blue summer suit had to be new as she was noticing it for the first time and fit incredibly well, making her think that it was custom tailored. She recalled the vest that came along with it but that he had discarded when the temperature rose during the day. In her opinion, it accentuated his slender figure and its navy blue, patterned back added a nice contrast. Inwardly, she smirked at the thought that even more women would try to chat him up if he wore it going out.

“Actually, you don't need to bribe me in order to play with Jesse,” she teased lightly, fleetingly wondering, if it was Barba's influence that made him buy such a suit, “but I'm still looking forward to a huge thin crust pizza.”

Realizing that she saw right through him, Carisi turned an adorable shade of red.

“You've got me there,” he admitted with a crooked smile. “Well, I'll pick up the pizza then and meet you at your place.”

“Alright,” Rollins nodded. “Thanks for the great idea. I didn't really feel like cooking tonight.”

“It's been a long day.”

“It's been a long week,” Rollins sighed, grabbing her purse and heading for the door.

Carisi fell in step beside her. At the elevator, they had to wait. Sensing that she did not want to make small talk, Carisi let his mind wander. It was not just the week that felt long and strenuous, though it was only Thursday. It was the squad's condition in general. Eight weeks had passed since Mike Dodds' funeral, and yet the horrendous pain of losing their sergeant on his last day at SVU still lingered. Each of them could have been in his place, getting caught by surprise in a situation that seemed totally under control. Cases of domestic violence were always unpredictable. As a result, everyone felt tense, which did not get any better by the fact that Gary Munson's trial had not yet begun.

As if that was not enough, Carisi felt the additional strain of having dealt with the death threats against their prosecutor, Assistant District Attorney Rafael Barba. Not long after Heredio had been arrested, the threats escalated from hang-up-calls and letters to actual attempts on the attorney's life. The pressure of the case left everyone reeling. Even weeks after the situation had been resolved, Carisi tried to understand why he still felt tense. He could not tell the reason, but the mere idea of losing their Cuban American prosecutor terrified him.

The elevator came and they rode the carriage downstairs. They were about to part ways, when Rollins declared, “I think I'll rather go with _Devilicious_. I'm craving something hot.”

Carisi frowned, thinking about the detour he would have to make to the pizzeria that had the extra hot chili pizza on the menu. “That's not exactly enroute.”

“Please?” she begged, batting her eyes at him from under her blonde bangs.

Helplessly, he rolled his eyes, “Okay, but then I'll choose what we'll watch.”

“Okay,” Rollins agreed with a smirk, grateful for her ability to wrap her partner around her little finger like this. When it came to Jesse, he was easy to manipulate. _He'd be a wonderful dad_ , she thought.

“See you later,” Carisi called after her as he started for the subway.

“Later!” she replied, waving at him.

During the ride, Carisi recalled the case they had just closed. It was still an unfortunate abnormality to him that some men could be so devious to abuse their own children. Working with adult victims was hard, but whenever children were involved, the job became even harder to bear. Those were the times when Carisi both wondered whether or not he should quit or just grow more determined.

From the station, it was only a short walk around the corner and down the block to the pizza place. Carisi ordered Rollins' _Devilicious_ as well as a pizza with chicken, red onions, and artichoke for himself. While he waited, he contemplated the other case they were currently investigating. Working in this special squad, they all knew the horrible facets the human sex drive could take on. They knew how to deal with victims of sexual assault and they knew that some cases were harder to leave behind at the office than others.

Right now, though, Carisi had a hard time to wrap his mind around another recent case. It was hard enough to understand why women were unable to leave an abusive relationship but he could hardly comprehend that a man stayed with a violent woman.

When the Special Victims Unit was called in, Brenton was in hospital, with cracked ribs and a rupture of the spleen.

Nobody wanted to help. Aileen Flynn stuck to her right to remain silent. The children were too traumatized to talk about what happened. The friends of the family rather were friends of Aileen, and even Brenton's parents were reluctant to aid him, thinking that he was the one who discontinued contact with them and kept them from seeing their grandchildren.

It was the same story as it would have been with any female victim and yet, it was harder to get. Deep in thought, Carisi started when the brunette pizza girl tapped at his hand. Smiling sheepishly, he thanked her and paid. Carrying their pizza boxes, he was on his way back to the subway station, when he heard excited voices.

“Stop struggling, you little slut,” someone spat.

“What? No!” a high-pitched voice almost broke with fear. “Let go! What are you doing?”

Looking into the passage, Carisi discovered two people, the woman being dragged deeper into the dark alleyway.

“Not before I've got what you promised!” the man demanded viciously.

“Promised?” she all but squealed.

Seeing her getting cornered by the man, the detective's right hand reflexively moved to his hip, resting his hand on the grip of his service piece.

“Aaargh! Let go!” the woman cried. “No! Pat, no!”

When the man shoved the woman into the brick wall, forcing her arms up and pressing her wrists against the stones with one hand while yanking at her clothes with the other, Carisi cast caution to the wind and strode purposefully into the passage.

“Hey!” he shouted at the guy she had called Pat to get his attention. Slowing his steps and extending his right hand in a pacifying gesture, he calmly demanded, “You've heard what the lady said, right? She said no.”

“None of your business, pal,” the man snarled back. “Get lost.”

“No,” Carisi stood his ground. “I recommend you release the lady now.”

Sneering at his opponent, Pat scoffed.

“You've got nerves! You barge in here, thinking you could tell me what to do?”

"Yeah," Carisi firmly stated, pushing his jacket back to reveal the badge clipped to his belt, “I’ve got nerves. NYPD. Let the lady go. Now.”

Whoever this Pat was to the woman, she definitely did not want him that close right now, as she writhed in the man's hold. Carisi was pretty certain that he interrupted an attempted rape. In the twilight of the alley, he could not see the wild look in the man's eyes, but the teeth that were bared at him set off first warning bells in his subconscious.

Grimacing, Pat released his grip and the woman wriggled out from between him and the wall. Staggering, keeping her head down, she moved toward Carisi, apparently intent on fleeing into his embrace.

“Ma'am, everything's alright,” Carisi told her reassuringly, using gentle force to guide her behind him instead. Turning back to Pat, he said, “That was the right decision.”

“Don't get cute with me!” Pat snarled. “You think I'll let that slide?”

His reaction should have been a warning for Carisi, who felt a normal dose of anxiety but still confident that he could handle the situation.

_At least the woman's out of his reach._

Carisi still tried to remain professional despite the man's aggressive attitude, “Sir-"

“Sir?” Pat cut him off with an evil laugh, making a step towards the detective. “You're calling me _sir_?”

Now, Carisi's warning bells were shrilling loudly. As the other man's speech was not slurred or something, he likely was not drunk, but he still seemed ready to provoke a fight.

“Sir, I need you to stop right there,” Carisi ordered in his best command voice, holding out his hand in a calming gesture.

Pat chuckled.

“Just because you have a badge doesn't make you a cop.”

“Maybe he's got a good Samaritan complex,” a new voice mingled in.

Startled, Carisi snapped his head around, seeing not one but three figures approach from behind and fanning out in the passage. His hand went to his gun holster. Shocked, he found it empty.

“If he wants to be the bitch's knight in shining armor,” another man threw in, “he's more stupid than he looks.”

“Looking good, though,” a short person snickered lecherously, reaching up and pulling a long haired wig off his head. Showing that he held another object as well, he asked ominously, "Missing something?"

Seeing his service weapon in the other man's hand, all three of them effectively blocking his way back to the street, Carisi realized that he was in trouble. Abandoning the pizza bag, he backed against a wall, reaching for the Apple watch's side button in order to activate a 911 call.

“You think you can take us on all at once?” the short man who had posed as a woman taunted, an evil grin spreading on his weasel-like features.

“Hey, what’s that?”

“The watch!” Pat shouted, “Look out!”

A punch hitting Carisi’s upper arm momentarily stunned the limb, making his grip slip.

_Did the call connect?_

Blocking another attack, Carisi whirled around and drove a vicious kick into one of the assailants' stomach. An uppercut slid off his defense, and he hit somebody's chest in return.

From behind, another man reached for his upper arms, hooking around them. Carisi's first reflex was struggling, but then, he let himself fall. The grip loosened and he landed on his butt. In retaliation, he beat the man between the legs. A howl of pain told him he had hit the bull's eye.

Rolling over, Carisi scrambled to his feet. With a sweep of his leg, he made another attacker's knees buckle. Straightening, the detective came face to face with the short, weasel-faced man. For a second or two, their gazes locked, and Carisi knew he had to get out.

_Now!_

Firing a straight right at the man, he felt his arm being intercepted. Intending to free himself by punching the weasel with his left resulted in both arms getting stuck crossed in an iron grip. Still holding tight, the man kicked at Carisi's middle. Due to the hold on his arms, the unexpected blow made the detective double over, gasping for breath. A split second later, something smashed down on his back, and before he even knew it, he was on all fours on the pavement, taking gulps of air.

“Ten-thir...” he croaked, hoping that the emergency call connected.

A kick to his side spun him around. Carisi tried to roll onto his back, but strong hands grabbed at his arms. One of the assailants brutally twisted his left arm, wrenching the smart-watch from his wrist. Then they yanked him back to his feet. Someone gripped at his chin from behind and he did not hesitate.

“Ouch! He bit me!”

A retaliating blow to his middle hit his solar plexus.

Paralyzing pain shot through Carisi's system. It drove tears to his eyes as the punch literally knocked the wind out of him and he became lightheaded.

_Help!_

A punch to his head split his lip and he tasted blood. Seeing stars from both the impact and the lack of oxygen, Carisi defenselessly hung in the grasp of the men. Beyond the pain, he numbly felt someone patting down his body and fishing his phone out of his inner jacket pocked, and he imploringly hoped that the call had connected. Hopefully, they would believe he was a cop after all and cease their assault as they heard him hoarsely voice with desperation, “Ten-thirteen.”

“Definitely a cop,” one of his attackers sneered, slapping him across the face in order to silence him.

Mustering what little strength he currently had left, Carisi reared in their grip. At least he thought he reared, while he merely struggled sluggishly.

Evil laughter penetrated his ears.

Due to his swimming vision, the man called Pat only was a blurry shape in the twilight of the alley. Carisi could make out that he was looking at something in his hand and his hopes fell. Hearing the man snicker devilishly, he knew that he was in big, **big** trouble.

“Now look what we have here,” Pat sneered, reading off Carisi's credentials, “Detective Third Grade Dominick Carisi... _Junior.”_

A hand in his hair forced the detective to keep his gaze ahead. Carisi always thought it to be a cliché, but he felt his blood run cold as he heard Pat read out contentedly, “Special Victims Unit...” his voice rose with amusement, “he's a sex cop.”

With horror, Carisi felt someone grip his crotch through the fabric of his trousers, squeezing and digging nails in painfully. Groaning, he strained against the hold on his arms.

“Thinking with the wrong head explains why he tried to mess with you, Pat,” one of the other men laughed.

“We should teach him a lesson,” another cut in.

“Yeah, Roy,” the first agreed. “One that he never forgets.”

Impending panic threatened to paralyze Carisi.

_They know I'm a cop and still want to teach me a lesson? Whatever they mean by that... certainly_ _entails_ _more pain_.

Seeing how the situation quickly got out of hand, he tried to gather his strength and argue, the words leaving him on a throaty gasp, “You're right, I'm a cop. So you know you'll get in...”

A hand brutally grasping his chin, fingers digging into his cheeks, stopped his argument before he had a chance to explain in just how much trouble they were.

“Don't you worry about _our_ problems, sweet cheeks,” Pat sneered.

Carisi knew that he had not much time left. When Pat let go of his chin and frisked him again, he was sure that once they found his handcuffs, he was going to be rendered helplessly at their mercy. Sagging, pretending to be groggier than he was, Carisi managed to catch the shorter man by surprise. The grip on his left arm loosened and he managed to break free just when Pat tugged on his belt. Screaming with rage, Carisi slammed the heel of his hand against the man's collarbone. Using his elbow, he then knocked it backwards at the opponent who still held on to his right arm. Unfortunately, his punch did not possess enough force to make the man release his grip. Instead, the mountain of a man grabbed his left arm as well. Letting himself drop did not work this time and all his rearing remained unsuccessful. With four against one, they overpowered him and knocked another scream off his lips.

Dazed, Carisi crashed prone on the asphalt.

A light flashed above.

“C'mon!” one of them demanded, “We don't have forever!”

Roughly, they pulled the detective back up to his feet.

_What now?_

Very real fear hit Carisi, knotting up his insides, when he heard the ratchet of metal and one half of his handcuffs snapped shut around his right wrist. Blood rushing in his ears, he tensed up in a vain attempt to prevent them from tying his hands. Carisi fought a desperate fight, but a second later, the steel eights encircled both of his wrists. Before he could recover from his shock at feeling his arms catch on the metal, the men marched him even deeper into the alley and around the parked cars.

Suspecting the worst, Carisi struggled and felt himself being lifted off the ground. Crying out, he felt his voice catch in his throat.

“Silence!” someone hissed sharply.

Viciously, the men manhandled him on their way to who knew where. Carisi felt himself dipping sideways, thinking he would fall, but they still held on to him strongly. Writhing and kicking in their carry, the detective fought tooth and nail to get out of their grip, but they were relentless. While one of them held his legs, another pulled off his shoes and tied his ankles. Carisi wanted to scream, but no sound came over his trembling lips except heavy breathing. When his feet were dropped, he felt nauseous from being handled and turned as if he was a puppet. Did nobody notice his predicament?

His breathing was still labored as Carisi tried to keep his wits as he was manhandled.

Someone pulled his tie from his neck. Despite his blurry vision, Carisi could discern that the same someone made knots into the fabric before reaching for the detective’s head, which set off a fresh bout of terror within him.

Instinctively, Carisi reared into the man holding him from behind. Throwing his head to the side, he tried to avoid the inevitable, but they gripped his head and forced the fabric between his teeth. Panic hit Carisi full force, his eyes growing wide, when the cloth filled his oral cavity, pressing his tongue down, and a squeal from deep in his throat escaped him. Firmly, they knotted the gag behind his head.

“Scared?” Pat snarled, getting into his face, “You should be.”

Once more, Carisi lost contact with the ground.

_Somebody help!_

With no pretense, they shoved him into a confined space. Feeling their hands everywhere, manipulating his body, overloaded Carisi's mind. In vain, he tried to process what was happening. All he heard was the rush in his ears and his heavy breathing through flaring nostrils.

Suddenly, the hands were gone.

Flash!

Thump!

The lid slamming shut above him, plunged Carisi into darkness.

 

xXx

 

Upon arriving home, Rollins was greeted by a giddy little girl that reached up at her as soon as she came into view. Rollins lifted her daughter up and thanked her babysitter, asking if Jesse had eaten. Hearing her confirmation, she thanked her again and saw her out. Bouncing Jesse in her arms, Rollins returned to the living room where she sat on the sofa.

Knowing that she did not need to cook tonight, she switched on the television and made herself comfortable.

In her arms, Jesse snuggled up to her chest and when she tickled her side, her daughter giggled happily.

Rollins delighted in the sound. As long as Jesse was happy, she was happy, too.

Thinking of how delighted her partner was going to be when he could play with her little girl later, she snickered. Carisi was such a softy when it came to children. Once he had kids of his own, their mom certainly would have to be the strict one.

_Or their dad?_ she thought, recalling how she had caught Carisi out one night between two after-work-beers. She had gone to the ladies' restroom and when she returned, she saw him with another man who apparently tried to chat him up. When Carisi spotted her, he had firmly told the other man goodbye. Though nothing had really happened, he had to endure her teasing for the rest of the evening. Of course, Carisi had claimed that he just did not want to be rude, but Rollins still could not help but to wonder. There had been a twinkle in his eyes just before he noticed his partner, which made her wonder if he was not bisexual. As it had been the only cue she ever picked up, she had dismissed it as irrelevant soon thereafter.

Only recently, the idea struck her again, and that was at Dodd's wake. Carisi had been talking with Barba then and they looked so well acquainted with each other that Rollins had to bite back a smirk. Later she had learned that Barba had told Carisi about the death threats he received, so she could relate to how close their conversation had been then.

_It must be my imagination_ , she told herself. _Our good Catholic boy just is good at mediation as well as undercover work. Deflection is his way to handle difficult situations. He's just that kind of guy who tries to make everyone happy._

Rollins thought at the rare occasions when she got the impression that he was indeed seeing someone. Despite all her prodding, he did not give anything away, not even if he actually had a date.

Looking at the clock on the wall, Rollins wondered what might keep her partner. She was yearning for a hot, delicious pizza with thick cheese. After a long day at work she had earned a luscious meal.

Squirming in her hold, Jesse demanded her attention. For a while, she could keep her entertained with finger games, but when the little girl became grumpy, she decided to take her to bed.

_Carisi will be devastated_ , Rollins inwardly chuckled when she laid her daughter down in her crib. _For him, playing with her would have been the best after-work distraction._

For a moment, she stayed with Jesse, caressing her back, before she returned to the couch. Another look at the clock did not make the time pass any faster. Rollins' stomach was growling audibly by now and she tried to withstand the urge to call Carisi.

_C'mon, Detective Carisi, where's the promised pizza? I don't want to wait forever._

Without his company, the reality show on the TV could not hold Rollins' attention. Subconsciously, her annoyance at being let down turned into concern. It was not like her partner at all to be late and not get in touch with her.

_Maybe I should call, remind him that it's his responsibility as my partner to keep me fed properly. C'mon, how long can it take to get two pizzas?_

Slowly, the nagging concern in the back of Rollins' mind turned into worry. Another glance at the clock told her that only a few minutes had passed since she last checked, which made her feel ridiculous. Shaking her head dismissively, she returned her attention back to the TV.

She had just settled deep into the couch, when her cell phone chimed, announcing a text message. Snagging it off the coffee table, she glanced at the display, expecting to find an excuse for why Carisi could not bring the promised dinner yet.

Her heart jumped into her throat, though, at seeing the automated emergency message, forwarded to her by the device after an SOS had been released. Frantically, she opened it to get the information about her partner's location at the time of emergency.

As she had no way of knowing what the emergency was or whether it had been resolved by now, she tried to call Carisi back, but she only got the voicemail, another clear sign that something was wrong.

_Horribly so. It must be a really dangerous situation if my partner resorts to using the SOS function of his smart watch._

As soon as Rollins had slipped on her shoes again, she grabbed her phone, service piece and jacket, and left her flat to head two doors down the hallway, knocking insistently.

"Mrs. Dean," she greeted when her elderly neighbor opened, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need to run an urgent errand. Could you have an eye on Jesse?" Seeing her skeptical expression, she pleaded, "She's already asleep. I'd just like someone to be there in case she wakes."

Mrs. Dean still hesitated.

"Please, Mrs. Dean. It's an emergency."

"Alright, Dear," she relented. "I'll be over in a moment."

“Now would be perfect,” Rollins begged, hoping her gaze adapted at least some of the puppy-dog-qualities her partner was capable of.

With a deep sigh, her neighbor gathered a knit jacket and her keys and followed Rollins to her flat.

"Thank you, Mrs. Dean," Rollins sighed. "I owe you."

As soon as her impromptu babysitter sat on the couch, Rollins took her leave and headed straight to the pizza place. Upon her arrival, she spotted a patrol car and strode over to her uniformed colleagues.

“Rollins, SVU,” she declared. “What have you got?”

“Nothing so far,” the officer told her. “No sign of a brawl of any kind.”

“Keep looking,” Rollins ordered and turned to enter the pizza restaurant. Impatiently, she pushed past the customers and tried to get hold of one of the service staff. Producing her cell phone where she had pulled up a picture of Carisi, she said, "NYPD, have you seen this man tonight?"

The young man shook his head, but nudged his colleague in order to direct her attention to Rollins, who asked her question again. Once more, she only got a shake of the head in response.

"Thanks. Anyone else whom I could ask?"

"Yeah, Sheila," the woman nodded. "She should be right back from her break."

"Thanks."

Rollins did not have to wait long until the woman in question returned and her colleagues already pointed her in the detective's direction.

"Yes, he was here," Sheila recalled when she was shown Carisi's picture. "I can't tell when exactly, though."

"Do you happen to remember in which direction he left?"

Worrying her bottom lip, Sheila wracked her mind about it before she shook her head.

"I think he turned left," she said, "but I'm really not sure. Sorry, Detective."

Rollins thanked her anyway and left the restaurant, turning the way, Carisi presumably had taken on his way back to the subway. As she walked along the pavement, she pulled up the map again that showed her where Carisi's phone had been tracked and realized that it was not the restaurant itself where it registered but an alley a few yards away.

Shining around with a flashlight, she kept searching for her partner. The officers joined her and she directed them to advance down the alley and search in the space encompassed by the buildings as well. As she could not spot anything yet, she dialed Carisi's number... and heard the melody he had programmed as her ring-tone. Turning around, she stood in front of a dumpster and realized that the sounds came from within.

Heart beating in her throat, she rushed to open the lid, expecting the worst. Instead of a body, she found a heap of trash bags. Wrinkling her nose, she produced gloves, slipping them on and climbing into the dumpster. With only the flashlight, she could not find the phone, so she called again to orient herself with the help of the ringtone. Keeping digging, she finally unearthed not only Carisi's phone but also his smart-watch from the depths of the dumpster.

_He'd never throw that away_.

As she had felt something else between the bags, she reached down again and pulled something out of the rubbish that made her heart sink.

_His Glock!_

Climbing out in a daze of emotion, she shone the light around, halfway expecting to find Carisi lying in the dirt, but all she could discover was a plastic bag with two pizza cartons.

And no sign of her missing partner.

 

tbc..

 


	2. Chapter 2

**unknown location**

**Thursday, June 23**

 

Pain was the first thing that Carisi became aware of when he slowly drifted out of a state of numbness. Uncertain whether he had been unconscious or not, he tried to assess his situation which was hard to do as his recollection of what had happened resurfaced slowly. While his whole body ached, it was his head that was killing him.

_Well, as long as it hurts, I'm still alive._

What was even worse than the pain was the nausea it caused. Feeling like he was repeatedly turned upside down and around, his foggy mind needed a while to figure out that he was not lightheaded but that the ground was moving. At the same time, his awareness of the gag in his mouth hit him full force, making his breathing even more labored. Biting on the fabric that stuck between his teeth and pressed on the corners of his mouth, he fought the impending panic at the lump that pressed down his tongue, making it impossible to swallow. Feeling his gag reflex kicking in, Carisi desperately tried to reach up and remove the offending object, but something prevented his hands from moving. Freezing with shock for a moment, Carisi drew a blank at why he was incapacitated. His condition did not register in his overtaxed mind, and he struggled violently, screaming into the gag. Unfruitful, he had to stop writhing.

Hyperventilating made him nauseous again, and for a long moment, he solely focused on regulating his frantic breathing by sucking in air through his nose.

Another attempt to move made Carisi catch on to how thoroughly he was tied up. His hands stubbornly stayed on his belly, his wrists hurting. With shock, he realized that they stuck in handcuffs, but there had to be more to why he could not move at all. Feeling his bonds, Carisi figured out that a cord wound around the short chain of the handcuffs, leading between his bent legs to his ankles that also were tightly bound. In addition to those bonds, another tether coiled around his waist, also holding his hands in place.

With that whole assessment came the terrifying memory of the four men subduing him.

_Help!_

It sounded pitiful even in his own head.

As if all of that was not bad enough yet, he also smelled the tang of urine. The crotch of his slacks was soaked and he also felt wetness between his legs.

At some point during the attack, his bladder must have emptied.

Mortified, Carisi slumped in his bonds. Realizing that he had lost control over his body like that was the last straw. Lying numb, he listened.

At first, the sounds around him made little sense, but with the memory of what had happened to him came the fact that he lay stuffed into a trunk. So the noises had to be the motor running, the tires on asphalt, the traffic around them.

_Where...?_

Remembering that modern cars had release mechanisms built into the trunk, Carisi tried to feel around for it. Unfortunately, he soon had to realize that he could hardly move at all. His hands were just about useless, so he made an attempt with his feet. His toes actually touched something, but it moved too easily to be a lever of some sort.

The car slowed and stopped.

Carisi's relief was short-lived, though, when the vehicle started again only to stop again a few seconds later.

_A traffic light? Lots of those in Manhattan._

The motion repeated several times. When the car began to move steadily again, the tones changed. The repetitive sound of the tires hitting cross beams made Carisi think that they were crossing a bridge.

_Are we leaving Manhattan? There's no bridge close to the restaurant! I must have panicked and blacked out for a while there!_

Then Carisi identified a sequence of sounds that was familiar.

_A toll station! Where the hell are they taking me?_

With no clue in which direction they started their journey, it could be any bridge, but Carisi still suspected that this either was George Washington Bridge or Bayonne Bridge.

_Why are they taking me out of Manhattan? They could have roughed me up and just left me behind, but instead, they trussed me up and stuffed me into their car. To do what?_

His stomach muscles fluttered when a tremor coursed through him.

_Why did they take me at all? I don't understand it!_

A shuddering breath rattled through his nose as raw fear welled up inside of him.

_It was pure coincidence that I came across that Pat guy and the_ _woman..._

There, his thought process faltered.

_It wasn't a woman but a man! They were staging the whole thing! So the man was not just mad at me for interrupting... it was planned!_ Who are the others and where did they come from so suddenly?

Twisting his wrists in the handcuffs, Carisi fingered the cords that wrapped around his body and tied the shackles to his ankles. Though they were not thick, they still were strong and the knots were not in reach.

_Jeez! What kind of cop am I if I can't even protect myself?_

That they stood four against one did not register in his mind then. All Carisi knew was that he pathetically failed. Being locked in a trunk and in a puddle of his own urine was the result of his carelessness.

_They knew where to go,_ Carisi realized which confused him even more. _They had lengths of rope. That looks like intent. Doesn't make any sense, though. Why target me?_

Desperately, Carisi tried to determine when the situation got out of hand. All he intended to do was help a woman in distress. He had not been aggressive. It was the man, Pat, who escalated.

_I still have no idea why he went off like he did. It looked as if he was picking the fight just for the sake of it. Some people just hate cops. They saw me and I became the embodiment of their hate. As a result, they're ignoring the possible consequences of taking me hostage in favor of doing who knows what to me._

_No matter why... I'm in_ really _big trouble._

Carisi felt incredibly stupid.

There had been no way of knowing then what he knew now, and still he could not shake the feeling that he should have caught on to the danger he was in much sooner.

_Now it's too late._

A pang of grief caught in Carisi's throat, which resulted in an attempt to swallow... and that was a mistake. The gag made him choke and his throat seemed to lock. Incapable of breathing, Carisi panicked, straining against his bonds. His struggling made him gasp for breath in return, which added to his fight for air.

_He---lp!_

Forcing himself to hold his breath, Carisi tried to relax his jaw and throat. With an effort, he managed to suck in a short breath through his nose. From there, he gradually came to taking longer and longer breaths. The rush in his ears subsided as his heartbeat slowed.

Counting to ten, Carisi took in a long yet shivering breath. With the next ten counts, he released his breath again. Forcing himself to repeat that, concentrating solely on taking in air and letting it out, he could finally even his breathing out.

Instead, tears began to sting his eyes.

_I wish I had gotten out of the pizza parlor earlier and avoided this mess altogether. I'd be having pizza with Rollins and playing with Jesse._

Thinking of his partner, he imagined that she was pretty mad at him by now. Hopefully, she would try to call him and notice sooner rather than later that he went missing.

_Maybe she's already looking for me._

Chances were, though, that Rollins went to bed thinking he skipped out on their pizza date. In that case, nobody would notice his absence until he failed to show up for work. Once the squad realized that he vanished, they would move heaven and hell in order to find him. At least he thought they would. Until then, he had to try and survive.

As he closed his eyes against the oppressing dark of the trunk, a single tear trickled down his cheek.

 

 

xXx

 

**Manhattan**

**Friday, June 24**

 

A sigh of relief escaped Rollins when she saw Olivia Benson's car pull up on the curb. The lieutenant's arrival did not take her any closer to solving the mystery of Carisi's disappearance, but her presence already grounded her. The doors of the car opened and out climbed not only Olivia Benson but also Odafin Tutuola. Spotting Rollins, they came over to meet with her.

“Lieutenant, CSU is already at work,” Rollins reported.

“You said you found his cell phone?” Fin asked, concern edged into his features.

“Yes, in that alley over there,” she nodded. “Someone had tossed it into a dumpster, along with his Apple Watch and his Glock. Two unis stayed at the scene, two other noted the license plates of the cars parked in the area. Since we located the pizzas Carisi purchased laying in the alley, he must have been on his way back when...”

There she trailed off for lack of an explanation for his disappearance.

“No witnesses?”

“Nobody came forward,” Rollins shook her head dismally. “But we should still canvass the area. Somebody must have noticed something. Anything.”

She refused from believing differently.

“Alright, you and Fin start knocking on doors,” Benson declared. “I'll get the videos of the traffic cameras. ”

“On it, Lieutenant,” Fin affirmed.

Together with Rollins, he first went to the pizza place. There, they talked with staff and guests, trying to find anyone who had seen their colleague. Rollins also spoke with Sheila again, in order to see if she remembered more about Carisi's visit, but she could not gather any new information. Nobody had even noticed the detective let alone seen what happened to him.

They continued to all the shops and bars on the street, but nobody could tell them anything helpful. No matter how it happened, Carisi's disappearance did not attract any attention. It was as if the earth had swallowed him, leaving no sign other than the pizza boxes.

“I can't believe it!” Rollins cursed as they stepped back out on the street. “There has to be _something_!”

“We'll get the footage of the two security cameras we discovered,” Fin told her. “Then we'll see.”

“God, I hope so,” she sighed. “Let's ask in that bar over there.”

Though he rolled his eyes, Fin readily started for the entrance. That he was dead tired did not change the fact that their teammate was missing, and even though he did not show it, he was just as eager to find a trace of him as Rollins was.

Purposefully, she strode to the bar, gesturing the barkeeper to come over to them. Showing him a picture of Carisi, she asked if he had seen him.

“No, Ma'am,” the barman shook his head.

“Did you notice anything unusual tonight?” she wanted to know.

“Define unusual,” he scoffed with amusement. “We're in New York. There's always something unusual happening.”

“Did anyone pick a fight?” Fin cut in, sensing that Rollins was about to blow a fuse. “An argument that went out of control?”

“Nah...” the man declared indifferently, screwing a bottle open and pouring four shots into glasses. “Unless you count Candy's usual bickering. She and her squeeze always are good for public displays.”

"Who's Candy?" Fin asked.

"Comes in occasionally with her current flame," the barkeeper shrugged indifferently. "Often argues, never leaves alone."

"Was she here tonight?" Rollins prodded.

Polishing glasses, he nodded. “Saw her with a guy. They're gone now.”

“You know,” Rollins spat, as the man did not sound apologetic at all, “A man disappeared, and if you don't cooperate and tell us all you know, we'll arrest you for aiding and abetting.”

“Amanda,” Fin murmured, gently but firmly steering her away from the bar. She looked like she wanted to argue.

“Still can't tell you what I don't know,” the barman stated. “Never saw him before.”

“Thanks,” Fin told him.

Frustrated, Rollins pulled away from her colleague. Ruffling her hair, she contemplated what to do. So far, they had nothing to work with. All they knew was that Carisi had bought the pizza and walked back towards the subway.

_Carisi, where are you?_

“We should question the guests, “ she suggested to Fin.

“Amanda, we don't have any leads yet,” he murmured back. “We know he wasn't here. So what do you want to question them about?”

“Ask them if someone's seen him,” she insisted. “Somebody _must_ have noticed something.”

“We'll come back if necessary,” Fin told her. “C'mon. Let's see if Liv got any news.”

Reluctantly, Rollins agreed with him. What they needed was solid evidence. All they had right now, though, were Carisi's belongings and the pizza boxes, and none of those items could tell them anything about their colleague's whereabouts.

“Alright,” she caved. “Let's talk with Liv.”

On their way out and to the squad's car where the lieutenant was coordinating the search efforts, Rollins felt like she moved on auto-pilot. The lack of knowledge about her partner's whereabouts was eating away at her.

“Anything new, Lieutenant?” Fin asked as they approached her.

“CSU will have to examine what they secured,” Benson relayed, “and the videos off the traffic cameras are on the way to our squad. Other than that, nothing.”

“Damn!” Rollins cursed. “I don't get it. What happened to him?”

“We'll find it out, Amanda,” Benson told her resolutely. “But not tonight.”

“Lieutenant...”

“We've done all we could,” Benson interrupted her. “Go home, take care of Jesse, and be back in early in the morning.”

“You don't honestly think that I'm going home now!” Rollins frayed, staring at her lieutenant out of shock-widened eyes.

“Yes, you will,” Benson firmly stated.

“No, I won't,” Rollins shook her head, determined. “Liv, he used the emergency SOS! What do you think happened that he resorted to calling 911? For me, that's as good as a ten-thirteen code!” Her voice broke with agitation. “Officer down. You can't expect me to ignore that! I can't let him down. As soon as those videos are there, I'll watch them.”

“No, you won't,” Benson contradicted, putting all the authority in it that she could muster, “because that's an order, Detective! You are too emotionally involved right now.”

“You're damn right I am!”

“Plus,” Benson went on, “your daughter is waiting at home. You need to take care of Jesse and arrange for her care for the time being.”

At that, Rollins' glare softened, but only a little.

“The borough task force is alerted, the Chief of Detectives informed, and Dorsey and Morris are going to come in to watch the footage. The night-shift will also call the hospitals, the doctor's offices around here... a BOLO is out as well. The whole NYPD is on the lookout for him. When we start fresh in the morning, we'll have more information that we can work with.”

Seeing that her detectives were about to argue, she beat them to it, “We're of no use to Carisi when we don't take care of ourselves. I need you to be back fresh in the morning...” She looked at her watch, “which will be in about five hours.”

“Alright, Liv,” Fin relented.

Rollins remained reluctant, but at home, Mrs. Dean was waiting for way too long already, so in the end, she nodded.

“See you in the morning then,” Benson said, giving Rollins' shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

“Right,” Rollins replied and it sounded like a passionate promise.

 

xXx

 

**unknown location**

 

Once the first shock had subsided, breathing became easier. No matter what he had tried, he could not remove the gag. So his only choice was to get a grip on his emotions and control his breathing.

Holding his eyes still closed, Carisi lay and tried to ignore the fact that the limbs of his gangly frame threatened to cramp due to the position he was forced to assume. The bonds did not give an inch and with every bump in the road, they tugged on his arms and legs.

Said bumps currently were the worst problem as they caused him more pain. Every now and then, one also knocked his head against the bottom of the trunk.

_Where are they taking me?_

The question burnt brighter with every mile they drove. At some point, Carisi's insides began to churn again. He had not heard other vehicles pass for what seemed like hours now, and it was anybody's guess to which sort of backwater they headed. With his rising tension, he breathed more heavily into the gag.

Counting the seconds, he forced himself to stick to a rhythm.

From inside the car, he heard the passengers talk animatedly, but he could not understand what about. Occasionally, the men laughed, and Carisi could not help but imagine that they were planning all of the terrible things they could do to him.

A turn in the road surprised him and he bumped his bent legs against the wheel well. A howl welled up from deep in his throat, as a bolt of pain shot through his system. Reflexively, he bit on the gag, hoping that they arrived soon, just so he would get out of this predicament.

_Quite likely, I'll get out of the frying pan into the fire._

Right at that moment, said frying pan consisted of several turns that the car took. Every bend made him slide in another direction with the centrifugal force. They also seemed to drive upwards, and the sound of the tires made him guess that they drove on gravel.

_Into the woods? Some remote place in the Catskills? Did we drive long enough to be in the Catskills? I have no idea._

The car stopped.

Carisi heard the doors open and close and braced himself for the moment the lid would open.

Nothing happened.

_Great. They go to all that effort and then they forget about me in here?_

If he was being honest with himself, he was not hell bent on their return. The only advantage would be that he got out of the confined space that reminded him more and more of a coffin. The disadvantage certainly would be more suffering.

“Shouldn't we get him out?” he heard one of the men demand.

“Nah,” another one replied, “We let him stew in his own juice some more.”

Their footsteps retreated, then all was silent.

All Carisi could do was wait.

 

xXx

 

**Rollins' apartment**

 

Upon entering her home, Rollins' pit bull Frannie woke and padded over to greet her, nudging her thigh with her nose. The detective petted her head and entered the living room, where she found Mrs. Dean on her sofa, fast asleep, and her little daughter Jesse in her playpen, playing with the teddy bear that Carisi had given to her. Instantly, she felt tears sting her eyes and choked them down.

Watching the display, her fingers still toying with her dog's fur, she felt immensely grateful for her neighbor's willingness to stay. After calling in CSU and Lieutenant Benson, Rollins had also phoned at home to let her impromptu babysitter know that the emergency would take more of her time than she expected.

Lightly tapping at Mrs. Dean's shoulder, she murmured, “Mrs. Dean? Hello? Mrs. Dean.”

Stirring awake, her neighbor looked up at her out of sleepy eyes.

“You're back, Dear,” she smiled softly, “Could you remedy your emergency?”

“We've got a new case,” Rollins told her, wisely avoiding the exact subject. “Thank you very much for your time, Mrs. Dean.”

“No problem, Child.”

Inwardly, Rollins rolled her eyes at being called that.

“Your little darling woke a while after you called,” Mrs. Dean relayed. “I changed her diaper and played a little, but she wouldn't stop crying. So I took her with me to the living room. After toying around a bit, she fell asleep here.” She smiled at Rollins lopsidedly. “And then I must have fallen asleep.”

_Ah, that's how Jesse came to be in the playpen_ , Rollins thought.

“That's alright, Mrs. Dean,” she assured her. “Thank you so much for stepping into the breach. Can I give you something to make up for your time?”

“No, Dear,” her neighbor warded off. “It's fine. We had fun together. Just don't make it a habit.”

“No. Thank you, Mrs. Dean.”

With a last, tired smile, Mrs. Dean excused herself and returned to her own apartment. For a moment, Rollins kept her eyes on the now closed door, thinking about how she could do her neighbor a favor. Maybe she should cook something for her once she had more time again, meaning that they found Carisi, meaning that he was in one piece.

_Then again, maybe it would be better if Carisi did the cooking._

Rollins could cook alright, as long as nobody expected much more than getting the adequate supply with nutrients, her partner, on the other hand, could make having a meal to be joy.

“Now, little duckling,” she turned to her daughter and lifted Jesse out of her playpen. “You better go back to bed.”

The little girl snuggled up to her as she carried her over to the bedroom where she laid her into her crib. Apparently, Jesse was tired from playing, as she closed her eyes when Rollins spread the blanket over her small form.

“Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite,” Rollins whispered to her. After watching her rest for a couple of minutes, she returned to the living room. Her view fell on the playpen and the plush teddy. Out of an impulse, she picked it up and dropped on the couch. Holding the soft toy with the fluffy white fur in both hands in her lap, fresh tears stung her eyes.

“Carisi, where are you?”

Unfortunately, the teddy bear could not answer. Wiping at the offending liquid with the back of her hand, Rollins fought back a wave of despair.

_I'm a detective for heaven's sake! I can endure a night of insecurity. Tomorrow, we'll find you._

Sitting the bear down on the couch beside her, she stared into empty space. She did not feel as confident as she wanted to be. Usually, she helped people whose loved ones had vanished or got hurt, she was not supposed to be the one who needed the help. Usually, she would turn to her partner for support, but now he had vanished.

_Just like that._

Frannie seemed to sense that her owner had a hard day. She hopped onto the couch and put her head down on Rollins' thigh, looking up at her in a way that could melt stone.

With a sigh, Rollins scratched her behind her ears.

Over and over, she turned the information they got around in her head. Carisi left the pizza place, on his way to meet with her, and ran into trouble. Trouble that compelled him to release an SOS call. She found his belongings thrown into the dumpster.

Carisi was gone.

_What did he step into?_

_What was done to him?_

_Who threw the phone away?_

_Where was he taken?_

_Is he still alive?_

Shaking her head vigorously, Rollins tried to chase the thoughts away. She wanted to know what was on the traffic videos. The cameras had to have recorded something that could tell them what had happened.

She refused to believe otherwise.

_We'll get what we need to know from those tapes. Then God help the people who laid hand on you, Carisi, because I'm going to give them hell!_

While she still contemplated further actions, her body caved to exhaustion and sent her to sleep.

 

xXx

 

**Manhattan SVU**

 

Instead of catching a break as she had advised her detectives to do, lieutenant Benson returned to their precinct. The squad room was buzzing with investigators, both her squad as well as from the task force, when she crossed the bullpen to enter her office and close the door behind her. Only for a minute, she allowed herself to wallow in emotion about the disappearance of her detective. Pulling herself together, she picked up the phone, but before she could place a call, the door opened and Deputy Chief William Dodds breezed in.

“Chief,” Benson sighed and put the receiver back down.

“Lieutenant Benson,” Dodds tersely addressed her, “You lost another of your men?”

The jibe did not come unexpected. There was a reason, after all, why he usually steered clear of their squad room for the last fifty-seven days unless it was absolutely inevitable.

Like now.

“Chief Dodds,” Benson began, trying to keep her voice as firm as possible, “I did not _lose_ another of my men. Detective Carisi was off-duty when he was running an errand. He released an automated emergency call and we haven't been able to locate him.”

“Same difference,” Dodds scoffed scornfully. “What do we have?”

Ignoring the death glare he still fixed on her, Benson filled him in about which steps they took with the investigation. Every now and then, he nodded his head, but his expression never became less hostile.

Honestly, Benson could not begrudge him that. Mere weeks had passed since his son had fallen in the line of duty, and it was obvious that he still held her responsible. Despite confronting her issues in therapy, she occasionally felt guilty herself about leaving her sergeant alone while she took the family's children outside. She should have known that the situation might escalate. Domestic violence always was dangerous, this time ending in a hostage situation with the worst outcome for the mediating sergeant.

“Lieutenant?” Dodds snapped.

Shaking herself out of her musings, Benson returned her attention back to Chief Dodds. She desperately needed coffee... or sleep. Sleep would be great. She had no time to sleep.

“I asked if it's possible that Detective Carisi threw his belongings away himself in order to prevent being tracked,” Dodds harshly demanded to know.

“I beg your pardon?”

Dumbfounded, Benson shook her head. She definitely did not like the accusatory tone in the Deputy Chief's voice.

“Could it be that Detective Carisi doesn't want to be found?”

Rewording his question did not make it any better in Benson's opinion.

“No, sir,” she tersely replied, “That is _not_ possible.”

Now Dodds seemed to pick up on the tension between them as well. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, he chose his next words more carefully, but he would not apologize.

“Lieutenant, you know that we have to take every possibility into consideration,” he stated more calmly now. “Someone has to play devil's advocate.”

“I understand,” Benson relented, “but I can assure you, that Detective Carisi did not go into hiding. No matter why or how he disappeared, we have every reason to assume that he is in grave danger.”

“In that case, I expect you to find him.”

“Chief, we've taken every possible measure,” Benson declared when she realized that he was finished. “Right now, all I can promise you is that we'll keep you in the loop.”

Scoffing, he shot back, “That's the least I can expect.”

“Sir, with all due respect...”

“We'll be awaiting the results,” Dodds cut in. “Report at Chief Weller's office at seven.”

Before Benson could confirm the order, Dodds pivoted around and strode out of the bullpen. With a soft groan, she looked at her watch, then around the squad room. If she intended to get some sleep at all, now would be the best opportunity. Setting the alarm on her phone, she went to the bunk room to crash there for at least an hour.

 

tbc..

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the team at SVU is struggling to find leads in the case of their colleague's disappearance, Carisi remains trapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the kudos and for bookmarking my story. I appreciate everything that shows me you enjoyed the read. On that note... a bit of feedback would make my day. ;-)  
> Big thanks to User24601 for beta-reading.

**Manhattan SVU**

**Friday, June 24**

 

Half past six in the morning saw Detective Amanda Rollins striding into the bullpen of Manhattan SVU, drop in her office chair, and start up her computer. One look around was enough for her to spot the men she wanted to speak with. Purposefully, she walked over to her colleagues, asking Dorsey and Morris about the results of their research. They did not take long to fill her in because there was not that much more information that had been gathered overnight.

One detail that Rollins hated to listen to was the recording of the 911 call. After a whole minute of contemplation, she finally put on headphones and hit play. Actually, there was not much to hear. Once the call had connected and the operator asked about the emergency, sounds of a brawl were coming through the ether. What made Rollins' heart ache with fear was the garbled ten-thirteen code he uttered. She hardly recognized his voice and did not want to imagine what had been done to him in order to elicit that desperate cry for help.

Rollins shuddered and pulled the headphones off. Instead of torturing herself with listening to the recording again, she should better get some work done.

When Benson walked into the squad room about half past seven, she found Rollins and Dorsey in front of a computer, watching new video footage.

“What have we got?” she asked as she paused beside Rollins' desk.

“A whole lot of nothing,” Rollins groaned without turning her eyes off the screen.

“Nothing new from the hospitals,” Dorsey added. “Nobody who fits Detective Carisi's description was admitted.”

Sighing, Rollins stopped the video. She did not want to hear it again. No, Carisi was not admitted to hospital. For one, that meant that he was not found critically injured, on the other hand, though, it could also mean that he was beyond medical help.

“Did CSU send a report already?” Benson demanded to know. Without hard evidence, she had not been able to give the Chief of Detectives sufficient answers and that irked her.

“No,” Rollins told her, “but the files of the surveillance cameras from those shops just came in. We're checking them now. Hopefully, they recorded something that the traffic cams didn't.”

“Alright,” Benson nodded. “Continue with that. I'll call the lab, see if they can offer a preliminary report.” With a dramatic eye-roll, she sighed, “And then I'll have to prepare a quick speech for our press conference.”

Offering their lieutenant an encouraging smile, Rollins watched her retreat to her office before she turned back to the monitor. Dorsey leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, obviously tired. “Can I restart it?” Rollins prodded.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I'll finish this with you.”

Together, they looked through the material and still were at it when a man strode into the bullpen, pausing just for a heartbeat to glance around before heading straight for the lieutenant's office. Benson was on the phone when he entered her sanctum and closed the door. Gesturing at him that she would finish the call as soon as possible, she nodded at the chair in front of her desk, but he kept standing.

The lieutenant had hardly put the receiver down when her unexpected guest announced in a huff, “I've heard that you're missing one of your detectives.”

_No good morning, no greeting at all_ , Benson noted, realizing at the same time, that the heat in his voice should not have surprised her as much as it did. With a pang of guilt, she remembered that she had wanted to call him in the middle of the night but forgot about it after Dodds' stint at her office, so he had every right to be angry. Knowing how tight both their schedules usually were, she was still surprised to see him in person. She would have expected a phone call, not that their assistant district attorney Rafael Barba waltzed into her office this early in the morning, looking as if he felt personally affronted because nobody had informed him. He did know, of course, that she would have briefed him as soon as they had something tangible, did he not? As it was, she cringed under his visible annoyance.

“I'm surprised that you didn't contact me right away.”

“I'm sorry,” Benson replied, “I should have. So far, we don't have anything substantial...”

Snidely cutting her short, Barba demanded to know, “Do I have to guess or will you tell me who went missing, Lieutenant?” Right at that moment, he was too cross about her negligence to care about niceties. One look around the squad room had shown him who was absent and the nagging trepidation that had plagued him ever since he overheard a conversation on his way into One Hogan Place turned into full blown concern.

Taking a deep breath, Benson braced herself, knowing that the two men became closer while working toward the detective's bar exam, and dealing with the death threats against Barba even enforced their bond.

“I'm sorry,” she told her friend. “I should have called you right away, but things are crazy right now and the search had clear priority.” Pausing, she offered him a compassionate look, “Rafael, it's Carisi.”

As she had expected, Barba's shock was palpable. He seemed to deflate and for a moment, he just stared ahead. Benson still could virtually hear the wheels turning in his head as he tried to digest the news. Numbly, he sank into the chair.

Benson felt with him, knowing that deep down he was a bit of a softy. An attribute that he was very protective of, hence his reputation of being an insensitive asshole. Just having a casual drink after work did not allow one a closer look at his personality. Once he grew accustomed to the challenges of Special Victims, it was his interactions with victims that taught her a lot about the carefully hidden compassion and empathy he was capable of.

“Has he been undercover?” the prosecutor asked, sounding hoarse with the anxiety that replaced his righteous anger.

“No,” Benson shook her head. “He wanted to pick up pizza on his way over to Rollins' place... and never arrived there.”

With that statement, she triggered one of the rare occasions when Counselor Barba's features derailed.

“¿Còmo dice?”

In Benson's opinion, the counselor looked and sounded even more incredulous than he did at court when Rita Calhoun came up with an especially ridiculous defense strategy, and in her mind, she could hear him call ' _objection_ '. Apparently, he was more shaken by the news than she had expected him to be, so she was even more loathed to tell him,

“As I said, we don't have anything solid. We found Carisi's cell phone and other belongings, but that's about it.”

After that statement, Barba remained silent for a long moment. His contemplation ended with a single-worded question, “Hospitals?”

“Nothing so far,” Benson shook her head. “We're waiting for the CSU report.”

“Morgues?”

Scandalized, she leveled her eyes on him, huffing, “Rafael...”

A knock on the door saved her from having to give further explanations of why they had no trace of the detective yet.

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” Rollins told them, “but I've got something.”

Both Benson and Barba shot up from their seats to follow Rollins to her desk. Taking position behind her, they waited for her to bring up the video.

“We've got this from a security camera diagonally opposite the restaurant, about thirty yards down the street,” Rollins relayed, starting the replay. “Coming from the left, you can see Carisi on his way back. I've watched until he stops... here.” She paused the video and pointed at the screen where her partner looked into the narrow alley. “Alright, something must have caught his attention. Let's see what happens next.”

Unexpectedly, there was not much to see. Carisi entered the passage and did not come back out.

“Where is he?” Barba muttered, asking the question with a hint of anxiety carrying in his voice. That was what they all wanted to know.

“We've got the whole day's recordings. I've watched about half an hour before Carisi arrived there, I saw him go to the restaurant. About twenty minutes later, he came back into view, stopped there, and that's it. Nobody else went in before,” Rollins told them.

“What about cars?” Benson asked. “There were several cars parked in that alley.”

“No vehicles drove in or out of the alley in the time frame I was watching,” Rollins shook her head.

They kept viewing the video until a dark SUV appeared in the driveway. At once, Rollins paused the footage, trying to decipher the license plate.

“Can't make out the number,” she groused.

“I can't make out anything about the driver either,” Benson stated as she leaned closer. “Maybe from another angle.”

“Probably,” Rollins nodded, restarting the video. The car turned right and left the camera's focus. “Too many reflections... I can't tell how many passengers, let alone identify anyone. We should give it to the computer techs, see if they can wring something out of the data.”

“It's not much to go by,” Barba said.

“Well, it's more than we had five minutes ago,” Benson came back dryly.

Barba favored her with a dark scowl, but did not comment. Instead, he informed them, “I need to be at court in an hour. I expect you to keep me updated, Lieutenant.”

“Of course, Rafael,” Benson assured him, “As soon as we have news, I'll call you.”

Nodding curtly at them, Barba excused himself. Watching him leave the bullpen, the lieutenant thought that his stride lacked his usual energy. When she turned back to Rollins, the detective was already counter-checking the other video feeds that they got for the dark SUV.

“There it is...” Rollins muttered, “Got you.” Jotting down the number, she pulled up the program to check the license plate. Her search was running for a few seconds only when it brought up a result that made the detective curse loudly at the vehicle being marked as stolen. “What the hell...? Reported stolen this morning! You must be kidding me!”

“Who's the owner?” Benson calmly asked in an attempt to bring Rollins' temper down.

“One Woodrow Murphy. Lives just around the corner of the scene.”

“Talk with him,” Benson demanded. “And go to Carisi's place afterwards.”

“Pardon, Lieutenant?”

“We need to take everything into consideration,” Benson explained. “So we'll go with procedure, search his apartment, question his family, go through his cases.”

“You think he vanished on his own accord?” Rollins challenged. “He planned to meet with me and Jesse.”

“You're right, Amanda. But until we know otherwise, we can't rule anything out,” she declared, Dodds' words still fresh on her mind. “I'm aware of how unlikely it is that Carisi disappeared on his own. It's definitely a possibility, though, that someone has a grudge against him. We also need to check if he has been receiving threats.”

She cast Rollins a last, encouraging look before she headed back to her office where her phone was ringing insistently.

“Fine...” Grumbling to herself, Rollins jotted Murphy's home address down. Bringing up his telephone number, she called but it rang several times without anyone answering. So she checked out where he was employed. Together with Fin, she headed out to follow their first lead.

 

xXx

 

**Brooks & Haskell**

34th Street East

 

“Hey! Woody!” a clerk shouted through the open-plan office. When one of his colleagues stood from his work space, looking at him over the cubicle wall, he pointed in his direction, “That way, Officers.”

Nodding curtly at him, Fin led their way first left then right. As they approached, their target was coming up to meet them.

“Woodrow Murphy?” Rollins beat Fin to asking if they had the right person.

“Yes?”

“Detective Rollins. This is Detective Tutuola,” she introduced them. “Can we talk with you in private?”

“Well,” he awkwardly began, starting the way they came, “we probably could use the conference room. If you would follow me...”

They did and entered a room, separated by glass walls. Murphy closed the door behind them, asking, “I assume you're here because of my car?”

“Yes,” Fin confirmed.

“Did you find it already?” Murphy excitedly prodded.

“Actually, no,” Rollins cut in before Fin could answer. “You reported it stolen this morning, is that correct?”

“Yes. I discovered that it was gone when I went to leave for work.”

“Where did you park it?” Fin demanded to know.

Worrying his bottom lip, Murphy admitted, “Usually, I drive into a parking garage, but last night, I felt beat and left it out in the alley behind our building.” Becoming defensive, he added, “I've parked there before... But I've already told the police. Don't you speak with each other?”

“We're here to clarify the facts,” Rollins stated matter-of-factly. “When did you park your car, Mr. Murphy?”

“That was... about seven, I think. All I wanted was to take my groceries home and fall into bed. Really wasn't my day.”

“And you did not use the car again yesterday?” Rollins pushed.

“No. As I've already told you, I left it around seven. Came back to get it this morning, about ten past seven. It was gone.”

“Where have you been last night?”

“At home. I've made dinner and went to bed.”

“Can anyone confirm that?” Rollins queried.

“No...” he drawled. “Since when do I need an alibi? It was _my_ car that was stolen. Why are you pestering me with questions? Shouldn't you be out there trying to find it?”

_Dead end_ , Rollins thought. She would have loved to keep pushing him, but her instinct told her that he was telling them the truth. _Was his car stolen to take Carisi away?_

“Do you have any more questions, Detectives?” Murphy asked. “I need to return to work. Came in late due to the incident.”

“Well, we're done for now. Thank you, Mr. Murphy,” Fin gruffly told him. “Our colleagues will let you know when they find it.”

With a flourish, Murphy pulled the door open, ushering them out. Then he strode hastily back to his workplace.

“There goes our only lead,” Rollins sighed on their way out.

“When we get back, we'll have the forensics' report,” Fin mused aloud. “Everyone's on the lookout for the car. We'll find something soon.”

Rollins wanted to believe that, but it was hard.

 

xXx

 

**ADA Barba's office**

**One Hogan Place**

 

After a court session, a conference with the Bureau Chief ADA, and a jury selection, ADA Barba definitely had earned his coffee. So he sat down at the conference table in his office, feet propped up on a second chair, and turned on the television. In desperate need for a high dose of caffeine, he drained the remains from the mug that his personal assistant Carmen Moore had prepared for him. Despite best intentions, Barba could not quite concentrate and listened to the news with one ear only until an announcement piqued his interest.

Now watching with growing interest, he followed the NYPD press conference. Once the public call for information was over, he switched off the television and leaned heavily in his chair, massaging his temples in the vain hope to stave off his beginning headache.

The picture that had been presented during the conference surely had been taken at an official event as Carisi wore his uniform. Seeing it triggered memories in Barba. The first and last time he had seen the detective in his dress blues had been at Sergeant Dodds' funeral. At the wake, they shared a few drinks. Something had been different that day and it was not the melancholic vibe of the memorial.

With a sigh, Barba tried to chase the memories away as it did not do him any good to dwell on them. It was only early afternoon and he still had a lot of work ahead.

Checking his cell phone even though he got no alert, he sighed again when he found no new message from Lieutenant Benson.

_She has more important things to do than texting me every hour. Maybe I should give her a call. I'd just distract her from the investigation. Don't they need anything? A warrant maybe? Anything?_

Despite knowing that Benson would inform him as soon as they discovered a notable trace of the detective, Barba could not help but feel left out. As the assistant district attorney assigned to the SVU squad he was part of the team, but only sort of. He was not an active part of the search and for the first time ever, he wanted things to be different.

The sounds of a knock and the door opening startled him out of his musings. Turning his head, he found Carmen sticking her head in.

“Mr. Barba, don't forget your meeting with Mr. Buchannon in ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Carmen,” he replied tiredly. He needed more coffee.

 

xXx

 

**unknown location**

 

Carisi had given up on wondering how much time had passed since he woke in the trunk. To him, it felt like they were driving on and on and on, making him think that in case they drove north, they should have reached Canada already.

_If we were in Canada, it shouldn't be so damn hot!_

What he had heard one of them say earlier about letting him stew in his own juice turned out to be horribly true once they parked the car. At first, it was bearable as the summer night still was warm but not hot. Carisi was sure that he fell asleep at some time due to sheer exhaustion. When he woke, though, he was already bathed in sweat. It had to be morning as the temperature in the trunk had risen by several degrees.

Hearing footsteps approach, Carisi took as deep a breath as he could. As he could only take in air through his nose, that was easier said than done. Whatever pressed on his tongue was securely held in place by the gag, effectively silencing him. All he could utter were sounds from deep in his throat, that were certainly not loud enough to alarm anyone.

_Are they coming for me now?_

Having no other choice but to wait, Carisi listened intently. The car's doors opened and closed and he thought he heard footsteps, but then it was silent. Occasionally, voices drifted over to him, but they seemed far away.

Thirst plagued him, which was made even worse by the lump of fabric that they had stuffed into his mouth. His tongue felt furry enough as it was, and with the fabric pressing it down, he could not even gather saliva. Nothing he tried could move the gag and with the rising temperature, he became scared. The air seemed to be thick with heat and he desperately wished for one of his captors to come.

As the sun rose, the temperature also increased, soon making the detective feel like being stuck in an oven. Still being fully clothed in a long sleeved shirt and a suit jacket, he quickly broke in a sweat, the fabric clinging to his skin.

Very real fear of suffocating in the stuffy trunk made Carisi squirm, desperately trying to kick at the wall of his prison in order to alert anyone. His struggles remained without success as the faint thumps he made certainly would not be heard.

When he heard footsteps, he was torn between fear and relief.

_Will they get me out now? Please, get me out._

Reflexively, Carisi snapped his eyes shut when the lid of the trunk opened and bright sunlight streamed in. When a shadow fell on him, he carefully blinked at it. Towering over him, the man who was called Pat grinned down at him wickedly.

“Can I trust you to keep silent when I take that gag off?” he asked.

Carisi would have loved to scream for help, but he was not sure if his voice would not fail him as his mouth was dry as parchment. Not even the comparatively fresh air rushing in and replacing the stale warm air in the trunk helped.

“Try to yell and you'll regret it,” Pat sternly told him and reached down to remove the gag.

With relief, Carisi felt it peeled from his mouth. As Pat put it aside, the detective could catch a glimpse at how the necktie was knotted around what looked like a rolled up sock. Carisi tried to shout, but all that came out was a pitiful croak as he gasped for breath.

_So much about alerting others to my predicament._

“Another sunny day,” Pat remarked, producing a water bottle. “I bet it's hot in there.”

Carisi nodded, his eyes glued to the bottle, though his vision was swimming due to dehydration.

“Yeah...” Pat drawled, unscrewing the bottle. With one hand, he grasped the detective behind his neck to pull him up a little and held the bottle to his dry lips. Carisi coughed and sputtered as he tried to drink too much too quickly. After allowing him a few gulps, Pat took the bottle away.

Carisi relished the cool and fresh liquid and did not dare to question his luck that the man actually granted him water. A second time, Pat hoisted him up to let him drink and Carisi eagerly sucked on the bottle for big gulps of water, hoping to get as much as possible as he did not know for how long they would condemn him to stew in that damned trunk.

After taking the bottle away, Pat picked up the gag again, ready to put it back, but he had not reckoned with the detective stubbornly keeping his mouth shut.

“Open your mouth,” Pat demanded. “C'mon.”

“No...” Carisi said through clenched teeth, sounding rather undignified. “Please. No.”

Glowering at his captive, Pat paused.

Whether that was a good sign, Carisi could not tell. Tears welled in his eyes as he recalled how cruelly the gag had tied his tongue. Renewed panic made him whimper with the expectation of the necktie and sock being forced into his mouth. Even knowing how pathetic he was being right now, he could not bring himself to care. Too real was the possibility that the gag would choke him to death.

“Please what?”

Sniffing, Carisi fought for his composure. He felt his stomach muscles flutter with his internal fight. Was he already willing to beg?

“D-don't,” he stammered. “Please, don't.”

“Don't what?” Pat prodded with wicked glee.

Carisi's voice almost failed him as he pleaded through clenched teeth, “P-p-please don't p-put it... back in.”

Seemingly thoughtfully, Pat worried his bottom lip.

“Hmmm, I probably could spare you,” he mused aloud. “But I can't trust you to keep silent.”

Sobbing, Carisi shook his head. His limbs were numb, his muscles sore, his wrists hurting, his clothes soaked in sweat and urine, and his heart thumping with anxiety.

“W-won't shout,” he croaked, secretly wondering if he even could if he wanted to.

“Hmmm, that doesn't convince me,” Pat replied, almost sounding regretful.

Squashing his pride for the time being, Carisi resorted to begging, “P-please, don't put the gag back...” there his voice gave out, “I... won't shout.”

Staring up at his captor, Carisi tried to read his features and failed. The stoic face gave nothing away.

“Please. Don't suffocate me in here.”

A tremor ran through his body, making his limbs ache. His left leg threatened to cramp, which made him groan.

Without another word, Pat slammed the lid of the trunk shut.

 

tbc...

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discoveries and a meretricious relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite best intentions I needed longer to update than I was aiming for. Hope you can forgive me.  
> Once more big thanks to User24601 for beta-reading.

**Carisi's apartment**

**Friday, June 24**

 

Upon entering her partner's apartment, Rollins felt like an intruder. This was different from other searches. This was Carisi's home.

This was the case of emergency he had entrusted her with his keys for, and still being here made her uneasy.

It felt wrong.

While Carisi's place was not large, it felt instantly comfortable. Stepping through the front door, they came directly into the main room. Fin strode further in, but Rollins paused on the patch of linoleum in the entrance area, taking in her surroundings as she realized that it was the first time she visited her partner's home. To her left, in the corner between entrance and kitchen door, white wainscoting lined the wall, a small cupboard and a row of coat hooks turning the corner into a drop zone. To the right of the kitchen door, a small table with four shelf-boards above could serve as a dining table or a desk respectively.

“All clear,” Fin declared after doing a quick search. “No signs of a struggle, no forced entry.”

Actually, neither of them expected otherwise.

When Fin had opened the white and navy blue brindled curtain beside the table, he had revealed the door to the bathroom, a wardrobe and a storage bed. The sill of the window doubled as a nightstand, holding a lamp and a stack of books as well as two pots, a white striped spider plant and a dracaena. Two bars above the window held curtains and three white plant hangers with ivy, a green spider plant, and a pothos plant that spread its long tendrils up to the bars, entwining around them in both directions and down along the curtains.

Smiling to herself, Rollins eyed that corner with fascination. Who knew that her partner had such a green thumb?

A shelf separated the sleeping area from the rest of the room, the curtain offering privacy. Apparently, Carisi’s taste in furniture seemed to be inspired by IKEA, as not only the shelf was compiled of neatly stacked squares made of particle board, but the wide, comfy sofa on its other side and the long lime green cupboard with a flat screen television on top seemed to have been purchased at the Swedish furniture store as well.

_It's nothing like I'd have expected,_ Rollins thought. _The color theme strikes me as unusual. It reminds me of the example rooms presented at the IKEA store._

To the right of the front door, a second wall of cube shaped KALLAX shelves separated another narrow area that was curtained off. Pushing the navy blue fabric a bit aside, Rollins found a storage room where Carisi kept all kind of household stuff. Letting the curtain fall closed again, Rollins stepped around the shelf-partition to take a closer look at the living area. She loved the dark teal sofa that offered a nice contrast to the dark blue wall behind the TV, while the other walls were painted in a shade of white, only lightly tinted with blue. More plants hung in the window and between coffee table and sideboard, in a turquoise and chrome pot, stood an opulent monstera with its typical, perforated leaves. Most of the square compartments of the shelves were filled with books. Some squares of the separator near the entrance were filled with boxes and some had lime door or drawer inserts.

Taking a deep breath, Rollins took in the atmosphere and decided that she very much liked what Carisi had done with his apartment. Turning around, she stepped up to the kitchen and was surprised by a vintage fridge and vanilla furniture contrasting the green walls. In the window hung tin cans with herbs growing in them.

_We either went out or met at my place because of Jesse,_ Rollins thought as she made a mental note to come back later to water the plants. _I wish I'd have seen this earlier. Now, it feels as if his ghost is lingering between the furniture._

“Amanda?”

Leaving the kitchen, Rollins saw Fin leaf through a couple of papers on the board right above the small desk.

“Found something?”

“Nope,” he replied, looking back down at the papers. “Are you alright?”

Rollins bristled. “No, I'm not alright.”

“We've got a job to do,” Fin stated. “Are you sure you can do this?”

Huffing with anger, she wondered how he could be so indifferent. Even if he might not consider Carisi to be a friend, he still was a colleague and a pretty talented detective.

“Only because I'm showing my frustration, doesn't mean that I can't do my job,” she remarked snidely.

“Then please do it.”

Hearing that, Rollins' jaw dropped, but she snapped it shut and bit back a comment that she might later regret. Usually, she could tell when it was just Fin's gruff attitude, but this time, she was not sure what put her off.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” she asked instead, putting back a framed photo that she had picked up earlier.

“No.”

That he immersed himself in examining a couple of law books that piled near the edge of the table, seemed odd to her.

“Fin?” she prodded, eyeing him closely.

With a sigh, Fin dropped a book back onto the pile.

“I think we both know that we won't find anything here,” he finally said. “This is a waste of time. Carisi did not vanish on his own accord.”

That was exactly what Rollins was thinking.

“I feel bad going through his things like this,” she replied. “You're right, it would be different if we had to assume that he went into hiding.”

As she looked around for anything that could prove her wrong, she strolled over to the living area.

“You know,” Fin murmured, suddenly sounding unusually emotional, “I'm sure Carisi would be fine with us snooping around because it means that we're looking for him.”

Rollins looked around at him, but he had already turned away to busy himself with another folder. So she continued her search.

Next to the sideboard a white folding table leaned against the wall. Numerous white, square frames in different sizes formed a collage on the wall. Rollins' view fell on a frame that held a snapshot of Carisi with his sisters. There were trees in the background, so she assumed that it was taken in the garden of his parents' house in Staten Island. Obviously, it had been a bright day, the summer sun lighting up his hair that was not gelled back for a change and looked blonder than usual. All four siblings laughed into the camera, Carisi showing a carefree, dimpled smile.

The sight made Rollins think that the picture showed exactly why everyone called him Sonny. Apparently, he was so used to it that he readily offered others to call him by his nickname. At work, nobody did, as much as she knew.

“Great picture,” Fin remarked as he stepped up beside her.

“Yeah.”

In the back of her mind, she could hear her partner introduce himself, 'Hi, I'm Dominick Carisi Junior. Call me Sonny'.

Closing her eyes, Rollins tried to fight back a surge of grief. Upon opening them again, her gaze fell onto another frame. Instantly, she had a lump in her throat at her own and Benson's images smiling back at her. The shot was taken by Carisi on a carousel. They sat on the carousel horses and held Noah and Jesse in their laps. She remembered how she had teased him about using an SLR camera instead of his phone.

_It's a really nice picture_ , she thought.

“Let's go back to the precinct,” Fin suggested.

Nodding her consent, Rollins committed the picture of Carisi and his sisters to memory, before she followed him out.

 

xXx

 

**Manhattan SVU**

**Friday, June 24**

 

Walking into the squad room, Rollins and Fin spotted a visitor at Ltd. Benson's office. Rollins did not recognize him, but Fin seemed surprised.

"Detective Taylor," he relayed at his partner's unspoken request. "Head of CSU."

The latter would not have been necessary. Though she had not met him before, Rollins knew of course who he was. Now she understood why Fin was surprised. In her opinion, there could only be one reason why he came over from One Police Plaza. Purposefully, she walked over to their lieutenant's office, knocked and poked her head in.

"Excuse me, Lieutenant. Do you have news?"

Shooting her detective an angry look, Benson still gestured her to come in.

"Detective Rollins," she introduced her.

Extending his hand in greeting, Taylor acknowledged her, "Detective Carisi's partner. You called us in last night."

Shaking his hand, she nodded and came right down to it, "What have you got?"

“As I already told Lieutenant Benson, we got fingerprints off the plastic bag, those of Det. Carisi as well as two of a yet to identify person. There were _no_ prints on the cell phone."

"None at all?" Benson asked for confirmation.

"Wiped clean," Taylor explained. "The external examination got us nothing."

"That sounds as if you found something _on_ the phone," Rollins prodded.

"Actually, we did," Taylor confirmed her suspicion, wording his next revelation carefully, "Aside from that we also found a minor trace of blood."

As suspected, Rollins lost a bit of color.

"Carisi's?"

Taylor nodded gravely. "No need to panic, Detective," he said pacifyingly as he took in Rollins' shocked expression. "It's really only a few drops."

“Something's telling me that that's not all,” Rollins remarked wryly.

“Right, it's not,” Taylor confirmed. “We've got more, but so far, it's not clear if any of that is relevant.” There, he paused for a moment. Opening its leather sleeve, he activated his PDA. With professional distance, he told them, “And then we found those two pictures on his smart phone.”

He gave the tablet to Lieutenant Benson who took a look at both photos before she told Rollins, “Maybe you want to take a seat.”

Rollins felt a chill on her back. Leaning across the desk, she took the tablet from Benson. As a cop, she thought, she could take whatever Taylor found, but when she looked at the first picture, her heart clenched painfully, and she followed the lieutenant's suggestion, sinking into one of the visitor chairs. Taylor took the one beside her.

“Oh, my God,” Rollins tonelessly muttered. Her voice hitched when she asked, _“That_ was on Carisi's phone?” Seeing Taylor nod, her insides clenched uncomfortably.

On the tablet was a shot, taken in the dark, but probably lit with a flashlight as it did not look like the camera's flash was used, and showed Carisi. The detective lay on the rough asphalt, prone, by all appearances unconscious. There was blood on his face where a punch had split his lip. In her opinion, he looked even more boyish there than he did on the photo with his sisters, probably because he was utterly helpless.

Staring at her partner, Rollins tried to decide whether she should look at the second picture at all. Deciding that Taylor would have told them if he thought their colleague was dead, she finally swiped to the next shot...

...and held her breath. Her hand came up to cover her mouth, and grief tightened her chest.

“Oh, God. Carisi.”

_Did I say that aloud?_

This time, Carisi lay in a trunk, still unconscious as it seemed. What unsettled Rollins was the cruelness with which he had been incapacitated. A cord connected his shackled wrists with his tied ankles, forcing his body into a bent position, and a necktie, most likely his own, parted his lips, knotted around his head as a gag.

The sight triggered tears that Rollins stubbornly fought back. She was glad that she was allowed time to collect herself. Taking a steeling breath, she asked, “What's the evidence telling you about what happened, Detective Taylor?”

“We can't trace back all the details,” Taylor relayed, “but so far, I would describe the events like this: Detective Carisi walked along the street, when something caught his attention...”

So far, nothing was news to Rollins. She wondered, if forensics could actually unearth more about her partner's unexplained disappearance.

“While the actual event remains in the dark,” Taylor went on, “we found traces that suggest the presence of at least three different men: the prints, saliva, and a cigarette butt. One of them is in the system, Cody Mosley, did two years for theft. He was said to be Carl _The Duke_ Lawrence's hatchet man, but he could never been nailed for personal injury. Dropped off the radar about two years ago.

As the incident occurred near the backdoor to The Cloverleaf, an Irish pub, we spread the search. We got prints that match those on the plastic bag off the doorknob...”

“We've been at the Cloverleaf,” Rollins interrupted incredulously. “The bartender claimed that he didn't see anything suspicious.”

“Then you should question him again,” Benson declared. “Find out who was there last night, and if any of the guests witnessed something.”

“Will do.”

“You said that Mosley dropped off the radar,” Benson turned to Taylor. “Do we have a home address?”

“No current one, no,” Taylor shook his head. “No known associates. We put a BOLO out on him.”

“Good.”

“Of course, the interpretation of the evidence is just that, an interpretation, but I could imagine that Detective Carisi approached someone in that alley, whom he did not perceive as a threat. Whoever that was got help, which resulted in Carisi being outnumbered. After overpowering him, they took his belongings, bound him, took those pictures, and disposed of his cell phone.

“In my point of view that means that they acted on the spur of the moment, using what was at hand, like his handcuffs and tie. Also, the cell phone and smart watch found in the dumpster were left behind to prevent tracking. They went to the effort to tie their hostage up for transport, which means that they wanted to take him alive.”

_Which could have changed by now,_ Rollins thought miserably but refrained from voicing it. She wanted to think positive, but it was hard.

At the same time, Benson was vividly reminded of the ordeal she had suffered by the hands of William Lewis. Judging by the photos, whoever took Carisi had held back. They could have beaten the pulp out of him there and then, but instead, they stuffed him into a car.

_They're not done with him yet._

What she did not want to imagine was what they might be planning to do to him once they were not as prone to discovery as they were in the alley, or, God forbid, what they had already done to him.

“Anyway...” Taylor resumed his report, “once you get a suspect, we can match the samples. I'll let you know, if we find anything else.”

“Thank you, Detective Taylor,”Benson said.

Rollins also nodded her thanks when Taylor bid his goodbye. Once he had left the lieutenant's office, she turned to Benson, “We might be on the right track with the BOLO out on the stolen vehicle. Chances are they stole it out of convenience. If we find it, there could be evidence they left behind.”

Thoughtfully, Benson nodded. “We've got leads to work with now. Go ahead, Rollins.”

“Alright.”

She just got up from her seat, when Fin appeared in the doorway.

“Liv, we've got a message from Port Authority, a hit on the BOLO. Murphy's car was registered by the license plate scanners on George Washington Bridge.”

“Finally something,” Rollins announced, shooting up from her chair. “Let's check who's driving.”

Gathering around Fin's computer, they looked at the black and white image of a burly man in his early thirties who sat behind the steering wheel of Woodrow Murphy's Vitara.

“He looks like a wrestler,” Rollins commented. “We need to find Mosley. Let's start with the barman.”

 

xXx

 

**unknown location**

**Friday, June 24**

 

Despite being freed of the gag, Carisi still was frightened of suffocating due to the ever rising temperature inside the trunk. Apparently, the summer sun was burning down on the vehicle. No matter how much - or little - water he drank before Pat slammed the lid shut again, it would soon be no issue anymore as it might not be enough to keep him alive for much longer.

After saying two prayers, Carisi attempted to keep his mind busy with replaying songs in his head. Though it turned out to be rather weird, it helped him to focus... and his mind off certain death. Eleven songs later, he once more heard footsteps. Heart beating in his throat, he awaited his destiny.

As the lid sprang open, bright sunlight blinded him. Reflexively, he pressed his eyes shut. As a result, he could only feel the men's hands on his body. The cord between his legs tensed for a second, then its hold was gone.

Squinting, Carisi tried to make out the shapes above him, but all he achieved was that his eyes hurt.

“Who are you?”

Shocked by the faint sound of his question, Carisi wondered, if they even heard it. Painfully, strong hands wrapped around his still shackled wrists. At the same time, someone else took hold on his bound ankles.

“W-what... do you... want?”

Clenching his teeth, Carisi suppressed a scream at the agony that shot through his legs when they suddenly stretched. When the men yanked on his limbs in order to hoist him out of the trunk, Carisi almost got sick from the sudden motion. As he hung on wrists and ankles as they carried him around the car, he felt like he was a piece of game.

_Maybe that's what I am to them... game to bring down._

The thought disturbed him, but then he realized that he should be way past being disturbed.

His attempts at determining his location made him nauseous as shades of blue and green interrupted by shadowy figures danced in his field of vision. That his head lolled back also distorted his perspective. Thirst made his mind foggy, and he felt sick, hoping that he was not suffering from heat stroke.

A groan escaped Carisi when they dropped his legs and he fell on his backside. Horrified, he heard the men laugh. They dragged him backwards and his handcuffs clattered against metal when someone pressed his wrists against a bar, wrapping rope around them. With his arms still above his head, that kept him in a sitting position, his head uncomfortably leaning back. Lacking the strength to keep his head up for long, Carisi could not make out what he now hang from, but suspected that it was a fence. He wanted to pull up his legs to support more of his weight, but a kick at them stopped him.

_Shit!_

Finally relieved from being held in a rigid position, his muscles twitched uncontrollably.

“Water?” he croaked. “P-p-please?”

Grasping his hair, someone lifted his head up and pushed a bottle against his parched lips. Eagerly, Carisi gulped down the fresh water that ran into his mouth. He wanted more, but the bottle was gone again and his head lolled back as soon as his hair was released.

He needed time to recover, but suspected that he was not going to be given any. With effort, he lifted his head back up. Carisi's eyes widened when a man stepped up to stand over him, producing a huge knife. Light reflexes danced on the blade as he twirled it in his hand. When he squatted down, Carisi recognized him as the one the costumed man had called Pat. At once, Carisi was reminded of his failure, misjudging the situation so thoroughly and falling for the trap, belatedly realizing in what kind of danger he actually was.

The knife slid under the tether around his ankles and the rope fell away when Pat cut. Taking hold of the detective's open suit jacket, Pat toyed with a button. Thoughtfully, he tugged on it and brought the knife up to cut it off.

The move did not pass Carisi by unnoticed, his heart aching with the implication that Pat could easily slice other things than the thread on a button. Slowly, indulging in his task, his captor cut away one button after the other. When the blade also sliced into fabric, Carisi mourned the suit that was not only new but also a bit more expensive than the ones he usually wore. Flexing the muscles in his legs, he attempted to regain control over the limbs. Trying to rotate his feet prove to be difficult, his feet numb and prickling after being released. Slowly, the sensation crept up into his calves.

Wicked chuckles accompanied Pat's assault with the knife, making Carisi's skin crawl. If their imagination was as evil as their laughter, he did not want to be their guinea pig.

“Hey, Pat,” a man to the left called out lecherously, “Why're you doing all the work?”

“Yeah!” another cut in, snickering with undisguised want, “He's a sex cop. Let's put his experience to the test!”

Egged on like that, Pat paused. As his face was in shadows against the sun, Carisi could not read his expression, but he suspected that the man was thinking about the possibilities. When Pat straightened back up, the detective closed his eyes with dread. A moment later, his hands were cut loose again and Pat pulled him to his feet.

Knowing that he should not show any weaknesses, Carisi fought for his balance, which was no easy task. After having been tied for so long, he felt rather unsteady on his feet that still prickled horribly.

“P-please,” Carisi moaned. “D-dizzy. Water?”

Eyeing his captive intensely, Pat seemed to decide that a dead hostage was of no use to them. Gesturing someone, he held the detective's unsteady gaze. Receiving a water bottle, he unscrewed it and held it to Carisi's lips.

With relief, Carisi took a few gulps. Though he was loathed to ask anything of the men, he knew that his life depended on them. So he had to bite the bullet and plead for the desperately needed liquid.

Actually feeling grateful, Carisi accepted the bottle a second time, taking long swallows and relishing the fresh taste. Too soon, Pat took the bottle away, handing it back to his comrade. With trepidation, Carisi saw him step even closer and repulsion filled him when Pat reached for his belt. He held his breath as he felt the man roughly unbuckling the belt and removing it from his trousers. Rage rekindled in him and burned even brighter as he fully began to comprehend what these men expected him to do.

Looping the leather, Pat put the belt around Carisi's neck and pulled it tight. Gesturing another of his comrades to come over, he pushed the strap into the tall and sturdy man's hand.

Only then, he produced the keys and reached for the handcuffs.

“I can see, that's what you're good at,” Pat teased as he unlocked the steel eights. “Glaring daggers at me.” Standing close in front of the detective, he whispered threateningly, “I'll wipe that glare off your face and exorcise your pride.”

Carisi choked, believing at once that the man meant what he said.

Taking a few steps back, Pat commanded,

“Now strip.”

 

tbc...

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carisi finds himself getting initiated by his captors while his family and co-workers fear the worst.

**unknown location**

**Friday, June 24**

 

Torn between fear and stubbornness, Carisi did not react to the order at first. So far, he was still trying to evaluate the men but had little to go on. One thing he could tell, though, was that they all seemed to have a sadistic streak. That they took pleasure in humiliating him was a bad sign.

When he did not react at once, the man beside him tightened the grip on the belt around his neck, which enhanced the nausea the detective was experiencing. So far, Carisi had only caught glimpses of him, but he knew that the man was of the same height as he himself, though broad shouldered and extremely muscular, which made a pretty intimidating opponent.

To Pat's right stood the shortest of the group, whose wide mouth and prominent nose made him look like a weasel. Carisi suspected that the nose had been broken at least once. That and his wiry built suggested a trained fighter. The fourth man stood at average height and weight, his short hair dark as the night.

Swaying on still unsteady legs and internally fighting the feeling of sickness that crept up on him, Caris attempted to figure out what motivated the men and how far he could go with being difficult before they resorted to violence.

“I'm... still feeling s-sick,” he ground out, shocked by how breathy he sounded. “Could I...” Feeling the belt tighten around his neck as he swayed once more, his words were choked off. Reflexively, he reached for the leather. A moan escaped him due to the pressure on his neck and he searched for a better stand.

Carisi did not see Pat get the bottle, but suddenly, he was back in front of him, grasping his hair and pushing the open bottle against his dry lips. Twice, Pat let him suck on the bottle eagerly before he handed it back to one of his comrades.

The water did not help Carisi to recover instantly but it made his nausea bearable. Reluctant to follow the order, he rather focused on his breathing.

“You know,” Pat drawled, reaching behind his back and pulling a revolver out of his waistband, “I really don't like having to repeat my orders.”

With trepidation, the detective watched Pat open the weapon and shaking the cartridges out. Stuffing them into his trouser pocket, the man produced a single cartridge that he pushed into one of the chambers. Then he snapped the cylinder back in place and turned it.

_Russian Roulette._

“It's not respectful, Detective,” Pat grunted, “I give you water, and you just refuse to cooperate. It was a simple order, wasn't it?”

At seeing Pat lift the gun, Carisi's mouth went dry. All of a sudden, his stubbornness turned into petrification, his muscles tensing at the threat. A second later, the muzzle pressed against his forehead.

_Oh, my God_ , Carisi thought as he stared along the barrel at Pat's determined eyes. At least two chambers were empty, but he could not see the other side. So the cartridge could be aligned with the barrel, and in that case... _Oh, my God! Oh, God!_

Trying to will his muscles to work, Carisi held the other's gaze. He managed to reach for his jacket, but shrugging out of it was easier said than done. With his hands trembling as they did, he hardly made progress, and seeing Pat's wicked grin beyond the gun did not help it any further.

Gasping in short, terrified breaths, Carisi finally felt the jacket slide down his arms. Heat and panic made for an unfortunate combination, rekindling his nausea. If he thought that undressing would become easier once he got started, he was mistaken. Dropping the ruined jacket, he began to unbutton his dress shirt. Slowly, he fumbled one button after the other open and pulled the shirt out of his trousers. The sweat soaked fabric caught on his skin, but once he managed to pull his arms out, the shirt fell on top of the jacket. Now, he was in his undershirt that he could not pull over his head with the belt around his neck and a gun pressed to his head.

As if he read his captive's thoughts, Pat got out his knife with his free hand. Feeling the cold steel being pushed under the fabric, Carisi sucked in a sharp breath. Another tremor ran through him as Pat cut the shirt up from bottom hem to neckline.

Without further prodding, he forced himself to shed the torn shirt. Now in his trousers only, he hoped that they would leave it at that.

He had no such luck.

“Go on,” Pat commanded.

Choking, Carisi tried to obey, but the button repeatedly escaped his unsteady fingers, so he first brushed his socks off his feet.

_Should I be thankful that Big Guy's not choking me with the belt to punish me? Probably not, given the gun that keeps poking my forehead._

When he paused in a vain attempt to steady his hands, the pressure of the muzzle increased in response. A shuddering breath catching in his throat, Carisi forced himself to keep trying on the button. As he focused on taking a slow breath and releasing the air equally slowly, he managed to fumble the button through the hole. Though he strangely felt calmer than before, he could not hold his captor's gaze anymore and tried to fixate a point on the ground.

Pat snickered.

“Stop stalling.”

Pulling the zipper down, Carisi first felt it: humiliation. He could not prevent his breathing from becoming heavier as he let his trousers slide down his legs.

“Step out of them,” Pat ordered and Carisi complied, casting his eyes down. He did not want to see the men's reactions. He wished he was somewhere else. Anywhere. Preferably on Rollins' couch, having pizza and watching one of her soap operas.

_But I'm here. Wherever_ here _is. And they'll have me for breakfast if they think me to be weak._

Taking a deep breath, he lifted his gaze to meet Pat's again.

Carisi was not sure if he should be relieved or not when the gun left his head once he had stepped out of his trousers. With or without his briefs, either way he felt exposed and more vulnerable than ever before. Though he steadfastly refused to think of himself as a victim, he more and more felt like one. The belt that slung around his neck like a leash and the predatory looks that followed his every move caused hard knots in his stomach.

"Holy shit, he's just skin and bones,” the weasel-faced man taunted.

“That's what you see,” the other replied, stepping closer, obviously intend to touch. He paused when Pat held out a stalling hand.

For Carisi that was a clear sign that Pat's role in this quartet actually was a leading one, at least where his abduction was concerned. At first, he had been convinced that none of them had started the evening thinking they were going to kidnap a police detective, that it had happened on the spur of the moment. With every new clue he got, though, he became more certain that they had taken him on purpose.

“What the hell do you even want from me?” Carisi spat with more venom than he had intended.

_Channeling the fear,_ he realized. _Guess I'm entitled to be scared_.

Feeling the belt tighten, pressing on his throat, his rage was fueled, “Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you're in?” he asked, hating that it came out more like a croak due to the leather enclosing his neck. “You let me go now... it'll be as if nothing had happened.”

Grimacing incredulously, Pat stepped up to him, so close that their chests almost touched.

“You've got balls, I give you that,” Pat hissed.

On his back, Carisi felt a hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades, allowing his handler an even better hold. Despite the shock, he kept himself from bringing his hands up to protect himself. Though the belt did not tighten even more, he knew that he was only one step shy of being choked.

_To death? Somehow, I doubt it. Guess, I should be more concerned about pain._ Glancing at the weasel-faced man, he concluded, _Or rape._

Gritting his teeth, he tried to stand his ground.

“I'll answer your question,” Pat stated grimly, reaching into his jeans jacket and getting his cell phone out. Without breaking eye contact, he brought up a picture and held it up for Carisi to see. “You know him?”

Thinking that the whole matter was ridiculous, Carisi glanced at the photo. As soon as he saw it, though, it was all he could do not to show his astonishment. Yes, the man seemed familiar, but he did not remember when or where he might have met him. He could be anyone. For Pat, though, he seemed to be important, and Carisi easily guessed that it would be suicide to admit that he recognized him.

Seemingly thoughtfully, Carisi shook his head, as little as the belt allowed, “No, I don't.”

“Stop lying to me!” Pat snarled. “You know who this is!”

“Actually,” Carisi firmly stated, looking Pat straight in the eye, “no, I don't.”

“Yes, you do,” Pat hissed. “I know you do.”

Carisi's heart skipped a beat. _What the hell_ _is he talking about_ _? I've never met him before, have I? What kind of fucking coincidence is all this about?_

“You honestly want to make me believe that you don't remember him?” Pat groused. “Seriously?”

Now, Carisi really was lost. He had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to have done. _Probably happened when I was with homicide_. Wracking his mind, he failed to recall a situation that fit with the face on the picture. _Maybe I was undercover... When I helped out Vice?_

Still drawing a blank, he felt a wave of despair wash over him.

“I don't,” Carisi choked out, “want to lie to you. Really. I can't remember having ever met that man, let alone seen him.”

Once more studying the photo, Carisi did his best to find a connection with the young man it showed, but the only thing that he noted when his gaze drifted back to Pat was a familial resemblance.

_Could they be related?_

Eyeing man and picture intently, Carisi tended to be leaning in that direction, but so far, that was his only clue.

Releasing a long, strained breath, Pat took hold of the detective's chin.

“Alright, sweet cheeks,” he snarled, “I want you to think. Think hard. Because when I ask you again, you'll better know the answer.”

_Whatever is going on here, the man in the picture is the key,_ Carisi realized.

“You cops,” Pat went on, “you think you're untouchable, but you're not. You've got to take responsibility for your actions, just like everyone else.”

_I agree_ , Carisi thought, refraining from voicing it as he got a feeling as if that was the wrong step to take. _Who knows what his idea of taking responsibility is._

“Let's take you to your... _quarters_ ,” Pat stated, releasing Carisi's chin and patting his cheek. “For your sake, I hope you can remember in the morning.”

Carisi choked.

_Revenge! This must be about revenge!_

Terrified, Carisi finally realized that Pat's last statement completely confirmed that his abduction was not some weird case of coincidence but that he had been lured into an elaborate trap.

The punch to his middle hit him unexpected, making him gasp and unbalancing him. The other man now grasped his arms from behind, holding him upright. Tears of pain burnt in Carisi's eyes, and he curled in on himself reflexively.

“I'm not a brute,” Pat stated. Getting the handcuffs back out, he pushed them against Carisi's stomach. “Here. Put them back on.”

Awkwardly, Carisi reached for them, and the grip on his arms loosened enough that he could move. Still breathing heavily, he paused. A glance up showed him where the men stood. Beyond were the car and trees. Judging by how long they drove over gravel, they were in a deeply wooded area. In his line of sight, he could not spot a house, but that did not matter. What mattered was that his chances dwindled as soon as his hands were back in cuffs.

Slowly, pretending to be more battered than he felt, though that did not take such an effort, he put one cuff around his right wrist, letting the other slide in his palm to use it as a weapon. Sensing the hold on his arms loosen, he decided to take his chance and ran to try and slip past the short man to his left.

Taken by surprise, the man lunged too late at him. Carisi stumbled for a moment but he was able to keep his balance as he broke out into a run. He managed to duck a punch before another from the side sent him sprawling in the dust of the yard. Someone grabbed at his wrist and yanked on his arms.

_Clank!_

Trying to pull away, Carisi was thwarted by the handcuff that now was closed around a steel bar, part of the fence, and not giving way.

“What do you think you're doing?” Pat hollered, probably trying for incredulous, but sounding mocking in the detective's ears.

_Yeah. What?_

Desperation was the last thing Carisi wanted to admit to, but it had to be the driving force behind his action. He heard the laughter and taunting voices but did not listen to what they were saying. In vain, he tried again and again to free his right hand.

Only when something wet hit him, burning in the scratches he sustained by the fall, his attention was drawn back to his captors. Looking around for the source of the offending liquid, he found them towering over him.

Urinating.

Lifting his hands, he shielded his face, but that was all he could do. Sprayed from head to toe with urine, he lay in the dust, shivering with rage and humiliation, and cursing the moment in which he had decided that interrupting an argument was a good idea.

“That will teach you to run you piece of shit,” Pat said menacingly as he zipped up his fly. Then pausing for a moment, his look of contempt turned to disgust. “Ugh, I guess we’ll have to clean him up before we take him inside.”

“Ummmm...” the men uttered cluelessly.

For a moment, thoughtful silence reigned.

Though he heard a shuffling noise, Carisi gasped with shock when cold water splashed on his already shaking form.

Laughing and bawling they hosed him down.

Mortified, and in shock due to the cold hitting his heated body, Carisi could not muster the spirit to wriggle aside, scream, or whatever else they hoped to get as a reaction. Right at that moment, he just wanted it to be over, and maybe they would stop if he did not give them what they wanted.

“Enough,” Pat cut the caterwauling short. “You don't want to drown him ahead of time!”

The stream of water ceased, but Carisi could not say he was relieved. Shivering uncontrollably, he lay in a pool of mud and wished his teeth would stop chattering.

Apathetically, he let Pat remove the handcuff from the fence. Their muscle man pulled him to his feet and Pat snapped the cuff shut around his left wrist. Then, the two of them marched him around the car and to the cabin beyond. Only when they had climbed the front porch and the entry opened before him, Carisi came back to his senses. Planting his bare feet, he struggled against being dragged inside.

To no avail.

Yanking on the belt around his neck, Pat pulled him over the threshold and to another door. On the other side, a steep stairwell led down into the cellar.

_No!_

Once more, Carisi tried to withstand, but it was fruitless. Further resistance would only result in him falling down the stairs. Giving in to his fate for now, he carefully walked down the steps and let himself be herded to the left. There, he saw that the stairs were constructed on massive steel posts and bars that served as the mount for shelves as well. Someone had cleared the boards of all content and thrown a woolen blanket on the concrete floor.

_That's what they did while they let me stew in the trunk... they prepared my prison._

“Don't make a fuss,” Pat told him as he tugged on the belt.

Numbed by the hopelessness of his situation, Carisi let himself be maneuvered over to where the blanket lay.

_My designated place,_ he miserably thought. _Isn't it pathetic that I'm glad about a flimsy blanket being offered as opposed to bare concrete? Beaten. Trussed up. Mocked. Hosed down. Pissed on. Can it become worse?_

Facing his captor, he found himself subjected to a scrutinizing gaze that roamed all over his body until it met his own.

"You look like you'd want to ask something," Pat prodded.

Of course, Carisi had several questions on his mind, especially why all of this happened, but he just shook his head.

"No?" Pat mirrored his motion.

Reaching up with his right hand,  Pat removed the belt from Carisi's neck. Then he  brushed his fingertips along Carisi's jaw, around his earlobe and down his neck. Feeling the muscles tense under his touch, he rested his hand on his captive's shoulder.

Tensing even more, Carisi endured how Pat's thumb touched his chin and slowly moved down his throat. Even with his wrists in handcuffs he could have pushed the offending hand away and put up a fight, but right at that moment, he could not see the sense in that.

Pat smirked.

"Smart decision, Detective. You wouldn't get anywhere anyway."

_Yeah, I guessed as much._

Swallowing hard, Carisi tried to ignore the unwanted touch.

"Beauty and brains..."

That taunt made Carisi's hackles rise, but he choked it down and waited for whatever might come. The hand resting on his shoulder stroke around to the back of his neck and into his hair, taking hold.

"You're a smart one, Detective. It's in your best interest to do some digging in that memory of yours."

Actually, Carisi currently had trouble with thinking at all. Pain, thirst, and hunger plagued him. Though he could not tell the exact time, he was pretty certain that it was Friday afternoon, and he did not want to think about food as he had not eaten for a whole day.

_The thirst is even worse._

Still grasping his hair, Pat got into his captive's face, his merciless eyes boring into the detective's. It caused Carisi additional shivers alongside the cold of shock as well as from getting hosed down. For a long moment, they stood like that, before Pat released his hold and let his hand run down from Carisi's shoulder and along his arm to the handcuff around his wrist.

Producing the keys, he opened the left shackle and ordered, “Sit on the blanket.”

Carisi just stood, still shivering and dripping water on the concrete floor.

“Sit!” Pat snapped.

Bristling, the detective came back stubbornly, “What am I? A dog?”

“No...” Pat drawled, getting in Carisi's face, “You're a fucking pig, and as such used to following orders. And now sit, before I make you.”

Holding the other man's gaze, Carisi was stunned by his volatile behavior. As he could not judge Pat's reaction, he decided to give in and sat down on the floor.

Picking up a plastic bottle from another shelf far out of his captive's reach, Pat gave it to the detective who eyed him intently.

“It's not poisoned,” Pat spat. “You drink now or you won't drink at all.”

Thirsty beyond belief, Carisi hastily unscrewed the bottle and took a few gulps, pausing only to take a few breaths, as he knew that he should not drink too fast after his ordeal in the overheated trunk. The next time, he took sips rather than gulps, letting the sweet water slowly quench his thirst. How much would his captor grant him? The water refreshed him, but he certainly needed more to replace all he had lost through sweating.

Before he could finish the bottle, Pat took it from him.

“On your back,” Pat commanded, “and hands around the post.”

Looking over his shoulder, Carisi eyed the steel post with trepidation.

“What did I say about having to repeat myself?” Pat snarled. “Lay down!”

Taking a shuddering breath, Carisi scooted a bit forward before he lay back. It took him quite an effort to comply with the order that would render him completely helpless, and he felt a pang of fear when he stretched his arms above his head to put his hands down on both sides of the post. Under Pat's cruel watch, he needed three more calming breaths before he managed to close the handcuff around his left wrist, effectively immobilizing himself.

“Now, that wasn't too difficult, was it?” Pat taunted, leaning down to tug on the shackles to control if he really snapped the left half shut. Before straightening up, he patted his captive's cheek. “Good night... detective.”

Carisi listened to the man's retreating footsteps on the stairwell. As he expected, the lights were switched off. So he lay in the dark, still wet, muddy, and shivering, naked except for his briefs, and as helpless on his back as a turtle on its shell. His stomach growled audibly which reminded him of pizza, Rollins, and picking the wrong restaurant.

Thinking of his partner, grief tightened his chest.

“Amanda, help me,” he murmured to himself. “Please.”

Of course, she could not hear his plea. Nobody could come and help him. He had to survive on his own.

So far, he had no idea how to achieve that. The only clue he got was the picture that Pat had shown him. Carisi kept wracking his mind about where he might have met the man. He had looked young, maybe in his early twenties. A very sweet boy with dark, curly hair and shy, blue eyes. Unfortunately, Carisi could not make a connection.

Slowly, the rush in his ears subsided. The light that came through a narrow window high below the ceiling faded. With nightfall, Carisi became painfully aware that he was missing for about twenty-four hours now.

Trying to shift his position was difficult. The best he could achieve was angling his body to the left or right side. His muscles ached with the forced rigidity. He kept wracking his mind about his situation until sheer exhaustion made him fall asleep.

 

xXx

 

**Manhattan SVU**

**Friday, June 24**

 

Rollins and Fin were just about gone, when Lieutenant Benson discovered two other visitors at the entrance to the squad's bullpen. With dread, Benson stood from her desk and went to welcome the two women. While she knew the younger one, who wore her long, blond hair in a pony tail today, the other, older woman was unknown to Benson. Taking in her short, dark-haired appearance, she was surprised by little family resemblance.

“Lieutenant Benson,” Bella Sullivan, nee Carisi, greeted her as they met. “Can we talk with you for a moment?”

“Of course,” Benson nodded, inviting them into her office with a hand gesture. “How are Tommy and the baby?”

“They're fine, thank you,” Bella let her know as they entered the office.

Benson closed the door for more privacy. This was one of the talks every police officer wished they would not have to have. As she had a long phone conversation with Carisi's sister earlier, she was a little surprised that the women had come to the precinct. The least she could do now, though, was spare some time to talk to her detective's relatives.

“Marcella's how old now?”

“Eight months,” Bella said as they moved to the visitor chairs. “I don't think you've met our mother yet?”

“No,” Benson replied, shaking the offered hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Carisi. I wish it was under different circumstances.” Offering Carisi's sister and mother an understanding smile, she continued to her own seat.

Once they all took place, Bella asked, “Can you explain the circumstances of my brother's disappearance? My mother didn't want to hear it from me, second hand.”

Sheepishly, Carisi's sister kneaded her hands, saying, “I know, you've already tried to explain, but I wasn't at my best when we've talked on the phone. Somehow things went in one ear and out the other. Do you mind going through it one more time?”

“Sure,” Benson agreed, knowing quite well, how difficult it was for relatives to be missing a loved one.

Before she could begin, Mrs. Carisi cut in, “You said that my son did not come in for work?”

“That's correct,” Benson confirmed. “Though, actually, he was not seen since yesterday evening.”

“What happened?” Bellas asked. “All I know is that he wanted to spend the evening with his partner.”

Benson did not want to confirm any speculations, saying, “That's right. He was on his way to pick up pizza when he called 911. The patrol car responding to the emergency call did not find him at the scene, though.”

“What are you trying to say?” Mrs. Carisi demanded to know. “What happened to Sonny?”

“As a matter of fact, that still is a mystery, Mrs. Carisi,” Benson admitted. “We found your son's cell phone and are currently investigating the circumstances of his disappearance.”

“So you don't know anything at all,” Bella challenged.

“So far, we have little to go by on Benson corrected her, “but the investigation is ongoing, and we won't rest until we'll have found him.” Knowing that she might further irritate Carisi's sister, she addressed a thought that had crossed her mind after their phone call, “Is everything alright with you and Tommy? Is he...”

“Stop right there, Lieutenant,” Bella interrupted her. “Tommy's doing his best. It's hard sometimes, but we're doing alright. He's got nothing to do with Sonny's disappearance.”

“I didn't want to insinuate anything,” Benson calmly explained. “All I wanted to achieve was to rule things out. When was the last time you spoke with your brother?”

“On Sunday, at our family dinner.”

“What about your husband? Did he talk with him this week?”

“Not that I know of,” Bella came back, “and last night, we were both home, unable to sleep, because Marcella is teething. We took turns carrying her around in hope she'd fall asleep.”

“I know how that is,” Benson relayed comfortingly. The thought of Noah almost made her smile. Right now, that was inappropriate to do. Quickly forcing herself to return to the subject at hand, she demanded to know, “When you saw each other on Sunday, did Sonny mention anything about having any problems?”

“No,” Bella shook her head.

“Our Sonny's the one with the least problems,” Mrs. Carisi said, “His only problem right now seems to be that he still is with the police.”

“Beg your pardon?” Benson replied.

“Well, after passing his Bar exam, he consequently should have left the department and begun to work as a lawyer, don't you think?” Mrs. Carisi declared. “He studied law for a reason after all.”

“Ultimately, that is Carisi's decision,” Benson stated with just a hint of irritation lacing her voice. _He would not stay on the Force if he did not want to, would he?_

She never had reason to doubt his dedication. If anything, her youngest team member had been overeager in the beginning. She thought that his mother's remark stemmed from her wish that her son would lead a successful and happy life.

“Sometimes, children don't know what's good for them.”

Benson could understand that sentiment. Parents always wanted the best for their children. Often, though, that was not what the children wanted.

“Mom, that's not important right now,” Bella turned to her mother. “Your argument certainly has nothing to do with Sonny's disappearance.”

“You've had an argument?” Benson picked up on her statement.

“Yes,” Bella nodded, “but it was just about choices. My mother found Sonny's decision to stay with the police incomprehensible.”

With fervor, Mrs. Carisi addressed her daughter in Italian, apparently arguing.

“Excuse me,” Benson mingled in. “What is this about?”

“My mother said that she thinks that Sonny would not be missing if he worked as a lawyer, not as a cop.” Throwing a dark look at her mother, she added, “I told her that that was nonsense.”

“There's no indication that his disappearance has anything to do with his work,” Benson relayed. “He was off duty, picking up take away food.”

The two women listened to her intently.

“As I already told you, we have several leads that we are following,” Benson went on. “It was good to see you. Let us know, if something comes to mind that could help us, or if you come across something relevant. In the meantime, we will keep you updated.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Bella said, standing from her chair.

Mrs. Carisi also got up, but she seemed reluctant. Once more, mother and daughter spoke in Italian. Then they bid their goodbyes.

Benson watched them go with mixed emotions. She would have loved to be able to tell them more, but that would require that they knew more. As much as she hated to admit to it, if the few leads that they got did not get any results, they were at a dead end.

Everything they found indicated a spontaneous crime. As far as they knew, Carisi had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

_Judging by the pictures that CSU found on Carisi's own cell phone, the worst place and at the worst time. God, Sonny, what did you get yourself into? Who are those men and what do they want from you?_

Sometimes, someone just needed to dislike your face in order to start a fight. From experience, Benson knew how difficult such cases were to investigate. Turning to her ringing phone, she pushed the thoughts aside and answered the call. Together with the sergeants and lieutenants of several detective squads, she was coordinating a city-wide search for her missing junior detective.

So far, the day's efforts brought little progress. Carisi had been missing for approximately twenty-four hours now, and the worry she had felt when she first had gotten the call was now building into fear. Fear that Carisi had been hurt or even worse, killed. That was an emotion that she did not want to let anyone see, least of all her own squad, knowing that they all were obsessed with finding their co-worker. Being police officers they all knew what happened to people who went missing and now that a whole day had gone by without revealing any trace to Carisi's whereabouts, they feared the worst.

Sitting at her desk, twisting a pen between her fingers, she sighed. Then she picked up the phone again to make another call.

 

tbc..

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First clues are revealed.

**The Cloverleaf**

**Friday, June 24**

 

When Rollins and Fin entered the Cloverleaf, the bartender looked decidedly unhappy.

“Officers,” he groused as he turned his back on them to put some bottles on the shelf.

“It's detectives,” Fin grumbled back.

“Either way,” he said over his shoulder, “What do you want?”

“We're here to ask you some questions,” Rollins cut in, leaning on the bar, “Do you have a place where we can talk undisturbed?”

Heaving a dramatic sigh, the bartender turned back around.

“What do you want to talk about?” he shrugged, “I've told you... haven't seen the guy. Haven't seen anything.”

“Look,” Rollins said sweetly, “if we thought that was accurate, we wouldn't be here.”

“Believe it or not... it's the truth,” the bartender huffed with exasperation, gesturing at the people who frequented the Irish pub. “As you can see... I have my hands full.”

“We only need a moment,” Rollins smiled with sarcastic cheeriness.

Rolling his eyes, the barkeeper put the bottle down and moved to get out from behind the bar. On his way, he instructed the woman who worked with him to take over. Meeting the detectives at the end of the bar, he led them into a hallway and from there to his small office.

“Well, fire away,” he grunted as he took the only chair at his desk.

Both detectives remained unimpressed.

“We're looking for potential witnesses,” Fin told him. “Your regular, Candy, is she here tonight?”

“Haven't seen her yet, Detective.”

 _Alright._ Producing her cell phone, Rollins brought up a mug shot of Cody Mosley.

“What about him?” she asked, holding the phone out to the barkeeper. “Have you seen him last night?”

“Detective,” the man moaned, lifting his shoulders apologetically, “you saw how many guests we had last night, right? I have no idea if he was there or not.”

“Yeah, well, it's not like he's that easily overlooked,” Rollins scoffed, “He'd stand out against the usual crowd.”

“I’ve already told you twice, I haven’t seen the guy. If you want to keep asking the same questions, why don’t you record my answer so you can listen to it on repeat?” the barman remarked snidely.

“You think this is all a big joke?” Rollins hissed angrily. “We're talking about kidnapping. That's a class A felony, sentence for which is fifteen years to life.”

Putting on a serious expression, crossing his arms over his chest, Fin supported Rollins' strategy. Just like her, he was less than impressed by the man's attitude. Hopefully, the bartender would be more likely to cooperate now.

“What's that got to do with me?” the barman asked. “I didn't kidnap anyone.”

“But it happened in your backyard,” Rollins menacingly hissed, getting in his face across the desk, supporting herself with both hands on the tabletop as she leaned over it. “Surely, you don't want to face obstruction or accessory charges.”

At that, the man finally seemed to get a dent in his armor. Skeptically, he looked past Rollins to Fin, who just continued to stare him down.

“You... you can't hold me responsible for whatever anyone who visited my pub did,” the barman argued.

Even though she wished she could, Rollins knew that it was way too far fetched. She just hoped that she could talk some sense into him.

“You should feel responsible for the safety of your guests, though,” she told him sternly. “So... is anyone here right now whom you saw last night as well?”

“A few,” he relented.

“Alright,” Rollins nodded, backing off. “We need to talk with them. And you'll let us know as soon as Candy comes in.”

“Fine,” the barman agreed, looking positively chastened. “But do you even have any indication that the men you're searching were here?”

“The investigation is ongoing,” Rollins replied evasively. Holding up her cell phone, she asked, “So... have you seen this man around here recently?”

Finally cooperating, the bartender leaned forward and studied the picture intently this time before he answered, “I think I've seen him... but I wouldn't swear to it.”

For Rollins, that was a start at least.

“Did he have any company?” she demanded to know.

“Yeah, but I didn't pay attention.” Shaking his head, he shrugged, “I don't think that I could describe anyone.”

“Maybe someone else can,” Rollins stated. “You'll point us to those who were present last night.”

“If I must,” he snarled sarcastically, getting up from his chair and leading the way back to the lounge. After looking around in search of those of his regular customers whom he remembered seeing, he let the detectives know with whom they should speak.

Nodding their acknowledgment, they let him return to his work while they set out to interview the respective guests.

 

xXx

 

**unknown location**

**Saturday, June 25**

 

 

When Carisi woke, faint sunlight filtered through the window high under the cellar's ceiling. It was not enough to tell which time it might be, and he decided that it did not matter.

What mattered was that he felt an urgent need.

A need that he could not relieve being forced to lie on his back and with his hands immobile.

_Call out for them? Hell, no._

During the next moments, his resolve was put to a test.

At first, Carisi thought that he could ignore it. He had worse problems after all. In the early morning light, he examined the steel post he was handcuffed to and realized that it was thick and sturdy, screwed into floor and ceiling with reinforced steel bolts. Even if he would have been in a position that would allow him to pull on it, he would be more likely to tear his limbs from his body than the post out of concrete.

Carefully, he flexed his muscles. His whole body was stiff from spending the night on the floor. The woolen blanket was a poor excuse for a make-shift bed that offered neither warmth nor padding, and as his bonds had prevented him from moving, he had been forced to stay in the same position the whole time. Stretching and bending his long legs in turns, he tried to work out the kinks as well as warm himself up.

Unfortunately, his calisthenics also added to his discomfort where his bladder was concerned.

Pausing for the time being, Carisi twisted and stretched in a futile attempt to find a comfortable position. With every move, his skin rubbed against the rough wool, and the handcuffs bit into his wrists. In addition, the collection of scratches and bruises that he had suffered, smarted on his shoulders, back, sides, and legs.

 _At first, when I was in the alleyway, I had assumed the encounter had been a spontaneous one._ _The men could've roughed me up there and then, leaving me behind in the dirt of the alley, bleeding to death._ _But clearly, that was not the case._

Having been stuck in the oven of a trunk for hours, Carisi was too preoccupied with staying alive to even think about why he was there. But once they had pulled him out and Pat had shown him that picture, the detective had realized it was about revenge and he had been kidnapped on purpose!

Last night, exhaustion had pulled him into the depth of unconsciousness but now the full realization of what had happened hit him like plunging into ice cold water.

Even after being in their hands for more than a day now, the idea was still crushing.

 _They were prepared, knowing exactly what they were doing. So they must have been spying on me before_ _I even left the pizza joint_ _._

 _But_ _why?_

 _Why go to such length_ _s_ _?_

_Somehow, that young man on the picture is the key. I may be mistaken, but I think I saw a family resemblance in the photo and Pat._

Thoughtfully, Carisi once more strained against his bonds. Trying to twist his hands through the handcuff was hopeless. He knew it was, and yet he attempted to free himself.

_Something must have happened to the man. Why else would Pat question me about him?_

Desperation welled up inside of him. If the welcome the men had subjected him to was anything to go by, they were not going to treat him any more kindly in the future.

 _Whatever happened to the guy_ _in the photo_ _must be bad._

_I mean, you don't just kidnap a cop on a whim. Pat's got to have a good reason to make this plan and go through with it._

There, Carisi's thoughts derailed.

_I'm royally screwed._

Listening intently, the detective only heard his own breathing and a low rush in his ears. From above, everything was silent. Occasionally, the wood of the cabin creaked.

_Maybe it's earlier than I thought, they're not even up yet._

The thought that they might be gone did not even cross his mind. In his opinion, they did not go to the effort of taking him to this place if they intended to let him just rot in the basement. No, Carisi was certain that the men were still present.

 _Now, it's becoming really urgent,_ Carisi thought, crossing his legs in an attempt to stall the inevitable.

Feeling the pressing need, he had to make a decision: call out, or let it flow.

_And then I'm lying in urine again?_

Craning his neck, Carisi looked around the cellar and spotted a drain in the floor.

 _If I could turn onto my side, it could run down there._ _But in that case, I’d have to somehow pull down the front of my boxers and scoot off the blanket so it doesn't get soaked._

As he did not want to show any weakness, he was about to bite the bullet and relieve himself through the fabric, when the door to the cellar opened and he heard footsteps descend. A moment later, Pat stepped into his field of vision. Looking down at his captive, the man smirked.

“How did you sleep last night, _detective_ ,” Pat mocked. “You look a tad uncomfortable, crossing your legs like that. Do you need to relieve yourself?”

Not wanting to play any games with the sadistic bastard eyeing his crotch, Carisi bit his lip and refused to answer. For the first time, he got a chance to really study the man who was not quite as tall as he himself. His face was dominated by his gray eyes that watched the detective in return. A scar above his left eye parted the brow there, which could not be hidden by his unruly brown hair that fell over his forehead in thick curls.

“Come now, Junior ,” the man jeered, “a big boy like you doesn’t want to wet himself. Not again, anyway.”

Trying not to show any weakness, Carisi looked away, afraid the color rising to his cheeks would give him away. He had always disliked anyone, even family, calling him _Junior,_ so hearing it from this thug was like the stab of a knife.

“Well, I’m certainly not going to be cleaning up after you again,” Pat muttered as he walked to the other side of the cellar and retrieved a shallow bucket.

_Seriously?_

Stooping down next to the detective, Pat grabbed the detective around the waist and rolled him over so that he was now lying on his side.

Suppressing a groan, Carisi tried to rearrange his arms that caught on the handcuffs behind the steel post and ached with the strain put on them. The detective got the impression that his captor intended on shifting him even further, but that turned out to be physically impossible.

Not wanting to comply but also not wanting to piss himself in front of his captor, Carisi chose to try and ignore the manipulations of his body, holding himself rigid as he felt how his boxers were unceremoniously pulled down below his hips. He did not want to look but he felt how Pat slid the bucket underneath his exposed member.

Blushing with shame as he felt his captor hold him in position along with the bucket, Carisi knew he had to cave. He still was unbelievably irked that Pat was forcing him to handle his private business like this. The desire to kick some teeth in was overwhelming.

Finally relaxing his muscles, he peed into the bucket. The sound of the liquid hitting the plastic loudly made Carisi cringe. It almost felt like he was a toddler being potty-trained.

After setting the bucket aside, Pat returned to the detective's side.

“Actually, I think you could do without,” he grinned wickedly, taking hold on the briefs and pulling them all the way down the long legs.

Sucking in a sharp breath of surprise as much as anger, Carisi struggled to keep him from removing his last piece of clothing. Of course, he had no chance. Hearing Pat chuckle made his humiliation complete.

 _Looks like he's having a ball,_ Carisi lamented as he pulled his knees up to cover his exposed genitals.

“Is there a problem?” Pat demanded to know. “Should I have let you wet yourself?”

Carisi shook his head.

“So you’re not going to talk to me at all, is that it?”

Though asked in a light conversational voice, the question sounded like mockery in Carisi's ears. He had no desire whatsoever to talk with Pat, but he knew that it might also be a chance. Obviously, he waited too long with his answer.

“You know, I can understand if you don't want to incriminate yourself, but you could at least answer the easy questions. Usually, you're much more talkative than that.”

 _Incriminate?_ _Like the big lug even knew what that phrase meant._

“In which way would I incriminate myself?” he finally asked, feeling irritated by Pat's remark about him being talkative.

“Oh, you're talking!” Pat cheered. “Did I catch your attention?” Sitting down on the floor beside him, Pat crossed his legs and rested his arms on his thighs. For a moment, he held the detective's glare, thinking.

“So... do you remember?”

 _No_ , Carisi inwardly screamed, knowing that was the wrong answer. Hoping that he could use the opportunity to make a connection to the man, he queried, “You mean the man in the photo you showed me? Why do you care? He owe you money?”

“You know,” he spat, “that's the crux with you cops. You ruin other people's lives and don't give a damn about it.”

Carisi bristled.

“Look, I give a damn. I really do. And I’m sorry if the justice system has somehow failed you,” Carisi argued, thinking that Pat’s comment about cops meant that the picture he had seen was in reference to a case of some sort. “But just because you’ve kidnapped me, abused me, and locked me in a cellar doesn’t mean I’m going to magically remember some random guy in a photo.”

Pat still eyed him intently.

“I'm sorry that I can't answer your question,” Carisi told him honestly. “Do you have any idea how many people I've met this year alone? How many cases I've worked?”

“Resorting to excuses?” Pat shot back.

“No!” Carisi shook his head. Lying naked on his side with his knees tucked up, his arms still awkwardly crossed, he felt at a clear disadvantage.

“I’m just saying that whatever case you might be interested in, I can’t tell it apart from all the others I’ve worked without some clue or context to go by.”

Though Carisi still hoped that Pat would accept his argument, the narrowing of his brows told the detective otherwise. For a split second, he saw light reflexes dance on metal, before a knife's blade pressed against his chest. Sucking in a sharp breath, he tried to brace himself.

“I really hate when people are lying to me,” Pat snarled at him, twisting the knife so that the cutting edge now rested on the detective's skin. Slowly moving it across Carisi's chest, he drew first blood.

A whimper escaped Carisi, caused more by fear than actual pain.

“I'd tell you if I knew,” Carisi pressed through gritted teeth.

“Oh, really?” Pat scoffed. “You mean you wouldn't lie through your teeth in order to save your neck?”

“Maybe I could help if you'd explain to me what happened. Was the man in the picture falsely accused?” No reaction. “Was he a victim?”

Apparently, his latter question had been a mistake as a vicious punch hit his middle that threw him onto his back again.

Gasping for breath, Carisi fought the tears of pain that welled in his eyes.

“Yeah, a victim!” Pat thundered, getting to his feet. “ You can say he was victimized! But you know that, of course! You know it and you will remember it!”

Pulling on the handcuffs, Carisi squirmed away as best as he could, but could not avoid being kicked this time. His grunt seemed to satisfy his captor.

“You'll put those gears of your mind to work and figure it out,” Pat declared. “I swear that I'll do whatever is necessary to make you remember.”

Regrettably, Carisi did not doubt that for a second.

_These men were callous enough to keep me sweating in a damn trunk for hours, not caring if I suffered a heat stroke. Who knows what else they're going to come up with?_

Lying on his back again, he could not protect his genitals. With his wrists handcuffed behind the pole, he was completely helpless when Pat squatted beside him again and put his palm on Carisi's chest.

“Soon, I'll know everything about you,” Pat declared ominously, “Every detail, all your secrets, all your lies.”

 _The hell you will,_ Carisi thought stubbornly.

Feeling Pat caress his chest and tease his nipples, he gritted his teeth. Right then, he did not want to make it worse than it already was.

_I should be able to take a little touching._

Slowly, Pat's hand now brushed from thigh to hip and upwards where he rubbed a circle on the detective's stomach before he teased his navel with a fingertip.

Reflexively, Carisi sucked in his middle, thinking, _God, what kind of pervert is he?_ Seeing Pat's scowl, he wondered what else the man had in store for him.

“What?” Pat spat, “You don't like it?”

“No.”

Thankfully, Carisi managed to keep his voice steady and neutral.

“And here I thought you liked men,” Pat taunted, “Or is that a crime in your opinion?”

“It's not.”

Carisi held his breath when the offending hand slid further downwards again, brushing over firm hair and against the base of his genitals. _Whereas this is_ , he inwardly groaned at the unwanted touch. The hand moved on and Carisi threw caution to the wind. Taking hold on the post he was handcuffed to, he curled in on himself, pulling up his legs, and then kicked at the offender.

Though Pat blocked the punt, he fell back, crying out with surprise. Recovering just as quickly, Pat stood, staring down at his captive with unconcealed rage.

 _I shouldn't have kicked at him,_ Carisi berated himself. _I just couldn't stand him touching me like that._ His insides constricted with his skin still crawling from the loathed touch.

“Look, I understand you've got a bone to pick with me, the department, and the system as a whole,” Carisi said, “but this is _not_ the solution. If you release me now, I'll do whatever is in my power to remedy what was done to you.”

 _This really isn't comparable with interrogation. Will I have a chance to get through to him?_ Carisi tried, “I'll talk with our prosecutor. You'll get a good deal if you confess and testify against the others.”

“A good deal, huh?” Pat scoffed. “That's what they all say.”

Another clue.

 _Railroaded into taking a bad deal?_ Carisi wondered.

“Alright. I'll testify in your favor,” he promised. “And our ADA is an ass, but he's honest and the best I've ever met. He keeps his word. Always.”

At his description of Barba, Pat sneered, but the expression quickly dropped to make room for anger.

“Don't bother.”

Pat walked over to another shelf to return with a rope. Carisi's glare could not stop him, and probably even egged him on. Squatting beside him, he reached for the detective's legs. Carisi pulled away, kicking and squirming to keep his captor from incapacitating him further.

Grunting with anger, Pat took a step forward and knelt down over the detective, pinning his legs with his weight. Bringing both ankles together, he began to wrap the rope around them. From there, he wrapped it upwards and pulled the rope tight above the knees as well.

Getting trussed up like a Sunday roast made Carisi's hackles rise, but he was in no position to defend himself. At the same time, he was scared that his captor would now assault him.

Producing the keys to the handcuffs, Pat bent down to unlock the shackles. After releasing Carisi's left wrist, he snapped the cuff shut around the steel post. Grinning wickedly, he added, “Next time, you can use the bucket yourself.”

After shoving said bucked over to the detective, he had turned to the stairs already when he sidestepped and grabbed the water bottle. As if it was an afterthought, he set it down beside his captive. Then he turned to leave.

“The man you showed me... is he dead?” Carisi asked at his retreating back. It was the only thing that made sense right then. He got no reply, but he still added, “I'm sorry... for your loss.”

Pausing on the first step, Pat looked over the handrail down at his prisoner.

“You know, I actually believe you that.”

Then he climbed the stairs and was gone.

 

xXx

 

At first, Carisi could not move, not feeling any sort of strength in himself. Lethargically, he lay on the scratchy woolen blanket that served as his bed. Only slowly, he pulled himself out of his shock-like state and use his unexpected range of motion to reach for the rope. As his arm felt stiff from being immobilized for so long, he first bent it a couple of times until he could move it properly again.

Awkwardly, he turned onto his right side and pulled his legs up. That way, he could reach the rope and he fumbled the knot open that sat right above his knees. In his current position, he could not unwrap the ties, so he wriggled around until he could support himself on his right elbow and angle his legs in a way that allowed him to pull the rope through. Slowly, he managed to uncurl the tether. Finally, he tried to undo the knots that held his ankles. They were pulled so tight that Carisi needed quite some time to free himself.

_Guess he did that to keep me from struggling when he rearranged the handcuffs... small piece of revenge for my kicking him._

With a sigh, he stretched out on the blanket when the last knot was undone and the rope let go of his legs.

_At least, he gave me a chance to get it off. Guess he wants me to feel grateful for the favor._

For a couple of minutes, he relished what little freedom he had regained. Just for a fleeting moment, he then thought about trying his luck with the steel post. Dismissing the idea, he decided to do something more productive with his energy.

Sitting up, he first took the water bottle to relieve his thirst. As a precaution, he stopped after a few sips. He did not know for how long they would leave him alone after all.

Listening intently, he noticed that it was rather silent above.

 _You can stay upstairs for as long as you like,_ Carisi inwardly scoffed, not being hellbent on their return. Of course, he knew that was wishful thinking. Only too soon, at least one of them would come back for him.

_Maybe the rest of them aren't up yet. It's not like they had a lot to do except keeping an eye on me. They can afford to sleep in._

With a sigh, he leaned against the pole and tried to think of what could possibly be happening with the investigation into his disappearance.

_Did the SOS call connect? I have no way of knowing. If it did, Rollins got an alert as well. If not... she probably was clueless until I failed to show up with the pizza. Or did she only realize when I didn't show up at work? When did the squad recognize I went missing? They could be at my place now. Certainly put out a BOLO. Maybe there's video footage. They might have identified the car the thugs transported me._

His musings made his heart ache. Usually, he was the one doing all that, but now he was stuck in this cellar, bare and helpless.

Looking down at his chest, he examined the short cut that Pat had left there. Thankfully, it was not deep, only graced the skin. It had drawn blood but was not life-threatening.

_Unless it gets infected._

Pushing the unpleasant thought aside, Carisi took stock of his wounds, grateful that they were only minor ones. He could live with scratches and bruises, the humiliation even, but broken bones or free flowing blood were something he hoped to avoid. As a consequence, he already contemplated the idea of having to play along with whatever game they devised for him.

Recalling their previous actions made his skin crawl. Having lived through some of the most humiliating moments in his whole life during the last twenty-four hours, Carisi suspected that the men sought to degrade him in whichever way possible, which led his conclusions to a prospect that he feared more than anything else.

Rape!

_This situation they created is all about power. If I've learned one thing during working with the Special Victims Unit, then that forced intercourse is the ultimate manifestation of power._

His thoughts returned to the moment the gang discovered his detective's shield and read out which squad he worked for. One of them had gripped his crotch hard through his trousers. They made fun of him being a 'sex cop'. After releasing him from the trunk, they made him strip off his clothes.

_Honestly? I already thought it would happen right there and then._

By a hair's breath, he had scraped past a more serious form of assault, but if he was honest with himself, he knew that it was only a matter of time until they realized what would really get to him.

 _A male on male rapist doesn't necessarily have to be gay_ , Carisi recalled what he had once read up when he finally was transferred from Bronx Homicide to Staten Island SVU about two years ago. _Sex is only one of the components that come together when a man assaults another man, and his sexual orientation doesn't matter. Those men get off on the idea that the rape makes them more masculine._

Confused, but relieved nonetheless, Carisi wondered why they had not assaulted him then.

_Maybe their emotional high from taking me faded during the drive. That probably saved me for the time being. Plus, they seem to enjoy playing cat and mouse, toying with their prey._

A shuddering breath escaped him as he recalled that he was said prey.

Once more, Carisi looked around the cellar, this time really searching for a way out of his mess. In the far left corner stood a work bench and to his right stretched a second shelf along the wall. Both was way too far away for him to reach. To be on the safe side, someone had cleared both of everything that could become a weapon.

Near the bottom of the stairs were two doors. A narrow one that probably belonged to a closet and a wider one that might just as well lead to another room. The small window high under the ceiling was the only other opening. Even if Carisi could manage to lose the cuff, it would be too small for him to squeeze through. As far as he could tell, there might be bars on the other side of the milky glass.

Standing up, at least as far as the handcuff could slide up the post before it caught behind a cross brace of the shelf, he searched for anything that might serve as a lock-pick.

To no avail.

Before he sat back down, he rearranged the blanket, so he would not have to sit on bare concrete, but could still wrap part of it around himself. A few minutes later, he felt something like warmth seep into him. It was not freezing cold in the cellar, but without any clothes left, he could not claim that he was comfortable either.

Carisi took another sip of water and leaned against the pole, waiting, as it was all he could do right now.

 

tbc...

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His captors teach Carisi an important lesson.

**unknown location**

**Saturday, June 25**

 

Eventually, Carisi did try to rip the steel post from its moorings. As he suspected, it did not give an inch. Not wanting to give up so easily, he tried a few more times before pausing and sinking into an emotional stupor. Then a sudden surge of grief and fear made him tear on the steel with all his might.

All his efforts achieved him were strained shoulders and a bruised and bloodied right wrist due to the handcuff cutting into his flesh.

Carisi had just slumped back down on the blanket, when he heard footsteps from above. Apparently, his other captors had rejoined Pat and after a short while, they were discussing animatedly. Muffled as the voices were, Carisi could not understand what was said, he could only make out that their conversation had become heated.

It caused his stomach to twist into hard knots, as he could easily imagine that he was the subject.

Carisi could not say that he was looking forward to seeing them in person again. His musings about his situation had eventually turned into self-torture as he imagined all the horrible things they could do to him. Given his work experiences, he had quite a vivid imagination.

Hearing the door to the cellar open, he sat up straighter, bracing himself.

"Hey! I thought you'd have trussed him good!" the short, weasel-faced man complained as soon as he set eyes on Carisi. “Big C! Come help!”

The heavily muscled man pushed past his comrades, obviously intent on grabbing the detective and pulling him to his feet.

Carisi beat him to the punch by standing quickly, though slightly bent over as the handcuff caught on the shelf structure. With satisfaction, he saw the men pause in their approach. Apparently, they were slightly apprehensive of Carisi's ability to defend himself despite the fact that he was partially immobilized.

Of course, he knew that it was a misconception. In his current position, he could not put up a fight, least of all against four men at the same time.

“What’s with the hold up, Roy?” Pat taunted. “You really think he’s going to be able to hurt you while he’s restrained?”

Dumbfounded, Roy stared up at Pat, while Big C still hovered beside their captive.

"C'mon!" Pat laughed. "You think I'd go lax on him? I just wanted him to be able to use the bucket. But if you want to clean up his crap, be my guest."

Wrinkling his nose, Roy first glared at Pat, then at Carisi. He did not look like he cared if Carisi soiled himself or not, but he certainly disliked that Pat made fun of him.

Carisi realized that a second before Roy's fist forcefully drove into his middle, making him double over. Fighting for his balance, he gasped for air. Distracted as he was, he noted only peripherally that Big C stepped forward. When his arms were wrenched further behind his back, shoulder blades almost touching together and the handcuff jarring his wrist, Carisi involuntarily cried out with pain.

"Now, that's more like what I imagined," Roy _Weasel-face_ taunted. Trailing his fingertip along the cut on Carisi's chest, he asked, "Did you get started without us, Pat?"

"We only had a slight disagreement," Pat scoffed.

“A disagreement?” Roy snickered. Grabbing Carisi's hair, he yanked his head up to get in his face, hissing, “When I pick up where he left off, it won't be because of a disagreement.”

Clenching his jaw, Carisi glared at him.

“C'mon, Big C,” Roy demanded, “Bring him to his knees.”

“Time was, you called me by my first name,” Big C growled.

“I thought you liked the nickname!” Roy laughed. “But whatever... Will you be so kind as to assist in bringing this piggy here to his knees, Cody?”

During the exchange, Carisi could only wonder at their use of names and noted with trepidation that he was not meant to live and tell.

“Whatever.” Roy rolled his eyes. “Will you do me the favor, Cody?”

“Just a second,” Pat cut in, squeezing past Roy and unlocking the handcuff. Being confronted with a death glare from his comrade, he shrugged, “More flexibility.”

Roy grinned wickedly. Motioning his head at their muscle man, he kicked at the detective's legs.

Unbalanced by the impact and shoved from behind, Carisi fell to his knees, knocking them against the hard concrete. With a groan, he tried to adjust, but Cody's grip dug mercilessly in his flesh, pulling his arms so firmly together, that he thought, they would be put out of joint. Certainly, he would have broken his right arm if Pat had not released him from the shackles.

_Is he doing that on purpose?_ Carisi thought. _Trying to make me feel like I owed him?_

“What are you up to?” another guy chimed in.

Previously, out in the courtyard, Carisi had only seen him for a moment, tall, well-built, not too sturdy, coal black hair. So far, he had been silent, watching with interest and lending a hand when necessary. His friends also seemed surprised that he asked.

“We just want to have some fun with him and that pretty mouth of his,” Roy snickered, reaching for his belt.

Breath catching in his throat, Carisi felt his insides constrict.

_No!_

On his knees and bent forward due to the brutal hold on his arms, he could do nothing to prevent an assault. In his mind's eye, he already saw the wiry man forcefully wrap the belt around his throat until he gave in to their demands. Every fiber of his being rebelled against it, but he could not even squirm.

“Are you sure you should be doing that?”

“What do you care, Gil? Huh?” Roy snarled. “Feeling pity for the fucking pig all of a sudden?”

“I was just under the impression that he's not ready yet,” Gil shrugged, coming closer as well. “You might want to think twice about where you're sticking your dick.”

“Ya think?” Roy spat.

Just for a second, Carisi believed to be granted a reprieve, but then Roy's flat hand slapped him across the face.

Left.

Right.

Left again.

Carisi saw stars.

“Hey, piggy,” Roy snarled, grasping the detective's chin, hard, “Are you gonna bite me? Huh? You better not,” he snarled close to Carisi's ear.

As Roy reached for his zipper, Carisi furtively glanced up to search Pat. Somehow, he had thought that the man might intervene but when Roy took position in front of him, he saw Pat shrug and realized that he was mistaken.

Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Carisi struggled. Completely immobilized as he was, he rather hurt himself as Cody only gripped him harder.

“No!” he heard himself beg. “No! Don't do this!”

Roy laughed as he rubbed his hardening member before Carisi's face.

Strong fingers took hold of the detective's head, trying to force his jaw open. Heart jumping into his throat, Carisi reacted instinctively when Roy pushed forward to make him his.

A stunned second of silence preceded a howl of pain.

“Fucking piggy has TEETH!”

Roy stumbled backwards, releasing the detective's head, but Carisi was still stuck in the relentless grip of Cody.

The men's laughter echoed trough the cellar and only egged served to infuriate Roy's now wounded pride..

Carisi had not had a chance to recover from the shock, when he was punched in the face. The blow knocked his head around, and he bit his tongue. Tasting blood, a fresh bout of panic hit him. Another punch almost knocked him out.

Dazed, their actions did not register in his mind until he lay on the concrete floor. Hot tears streaked his face, and he could not stop his body from trembling. Lying prone, his arms, paralyzed by the brutal grip, limp at his sides, he could hardly take in air.

Carisi could hear them chatting, but due to the blood rushing in his ears, he could not understand a word. So he was caught by surprise, when his arms were once more wrenched behind his back, rope winding around his wrists.

Groaning, he had to let it happen. Not only were his arms' muscles screaming in protest at the mistreatment, his back and shoulders now also were on fire. The tension that they put on his ties made him cringe with pain.

Carisi cried out with shock, when someone took hold of his right leg, bending it up and wrapping rope around the ankle. A moment later, the same happened to his left leg. For some odd reason, he expected his legs to sink back down once they were bound, but when the hands let go of him, his limbs remained in that awkward position, the rope connecting ankles and wrists putting tension on his whole body.

Clenching his jaw, Carisi did his best to suppress the whimpers that rose in his throat.

_They hogtied me!_

More tears burnt in his eyes.

_I don't want to cry! Lord, give me the strength to endure what I can't change!_

However, God seemed to have forsaken this cabin in the woods. Carisi surmised as much when he felt a warm liquid splash on his skin. Judging by the grunting and squelching noises above him, the detective certainly understood that his abductors lacked any sense of common decency as they showed no inhibitions at masturbating in front of each other. Trapped in a twisted version of a Japanese porno, Carisi cringed as each of the men spent their seed on him.

Shamed to the bones, yet glad at the same time that he did not have to swallow it, Carisi closed his eyes. Only when their sounds faded and the door to the cellar closed, he allowed himself to cry.

 

xXx

 

**Manhattan SVU**

**Saturday, June 25**

 

Everyone at Manhattan SVU was working hard on finding a lead to Carisi's whereabouts.

Everyone was busy, yet they made little progress.

Everyone was frustrated.

Rubbing her hands over her face, Rollins tried to chase a bout of tiredness away. Glancing at Fin, she saw him sipping at his coffee while studying a file on his laptop, looking just as worn out as she felt.

_Thirty-six hours,_ Rollins thought, doodling absently on her notepad. _We all know that the first forty-eight hours are crucial. Time is ticking away and we're no closer to finding Sonny than we were a day ago._

“Detective Rollins.”

Startled, she looked up at the man who had miraculously appeared beside her desk, recognizing Brenton Flynn.

Aileen and Brenton Flynn were the couple at the center of the case Carisi and her had just finished wrapping up when her partner went missing. It was difficult case because instead of the typical abusive husband situation, it was Mrs. Flynn who was the aggressor. She had managed to turn everyone in Brenton’s life against him, even his parents.

“Mr. Flynn,” she replied with clear astonishment. “What can I do for you?”

“You can start with telling me why Alan and Amy aren't at the children's home,” Flynn demanded. His voice wavered with anxiety as well as exhaustion.

Rollins knew why he looked as beat as he did. Given the injuries his wife had inflicted on him, he had been hospitalized for quite some time and was released only recently. As he was not able to take care of the children yet as well as the pending law suit against his wife, CPS had taken over custody for the time being.

“They're not?” Rollins asked back.

“No, they' re not,” Flynn groused. “Apparently, the judge decided that they would be in better care with my parents.”

Rollins was stunned. Due to their frantic search for Carisi, she lost track of everything else, not even recalling that there had been a hearing at family court on Friday. Given the facts, she was equally astounded now that the custody hearing ended in favor of the grandparents.

“You need to help me,” Flynn went on. “Aileen's blinded everyone. As long as the kids are staying with my parents, she'll have free access to them.”

“Well, I'm pretty certain that the judge gave them custody on the condition that they avoid contact with your wife,” Rollins stated. “Or do you have information to the contrary?”

“No, I don't,” Flynn grunted, “but I know Aileen, and I know my parents. They won't listen to a judge whatsoever.”

“Mr. Flynn,” Rollins said, motioning to the chair beside her desk. She waited until he sank into the seat. “Please take a deep breath and a minute to think about it. Do you have reason to believe that your wife might hurt your children?”

“I don't know,” he breathed, ruffling his hair, “Usually, she only resorts to violence when she's stressed... but now, the trial, of course she is stressed. Add her job to the equation... I can't tell. I just know that I don't want to take any chances. Please, there must be something that you can do.”

With a pang of guilt, Rollins realized that she felt torn. Of course, she had compassion for Flynn and his family, but right at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to keep working on her partner's case, no matter how little progress she was making. Putting the search for Carisi on the back burner for another case felt... wrong.

_But it's our case,_ she inwardly sighed. _Still, every second I spend helping him is a second I've wasted not looking for Carisi._

“Mr. Flynn,” she gently said. “I need to talk with our lieutenant. Do you want something to drink while you wait? Coffee? Water?”

“No, thanks,” he shook his head.

“Alright.”

Still feeling like a traitor, Rollins went to Benson's office and knocked on the door. Hearing her reply, she went in and closed the door behind herself.

“Liv, Mr. Flynn is here,” she relayed. “Apparently, the children have been allowed to live with the grandparents for the time being.”

Amanda knew Benson was familiar with the case and Liv clearly understood that there was an implied problem with the decision. Still, would the Lieutenant want to get involved or directed resources to handle the situation?

“What about it?”

“Well, as his wife already managed to manipulate his parents before, Mr. Flynn fears that Aileen could have access to the children,” Rollins told her. “Despite the court's order.”

Thoughtfully, Benson toyed with a paperclip.

“Do you want to pay the grandparents a surprise visit?”

“What I _want_ is irrelevant,” Rollins replied, and her voice began to waver as she went on, “This is mine and Carisi's case, though. I feel responsible. I'm asking if we should check on the children, see if they're treated well by Flynn's parents and if their mother tried to contact them.”

“Actually, that belongs to CPS' duties,” Benson mused. “A sneaking suspicion isn't probable cause.”

“I know,” Rollins sighed. “I'm not sure about how serious the situation might be. Ignoring it now, though, feels like letting Flynn and his family down.” She paused, uncertain if she should mention her thoughts, “Investigating Flynn's case feels like letting Carisi down.”

Offering her detective an understanding look, Benson agreed, “I understand you. I really do.”

To Rollins that sounded as if a _but_ was coming.

“I also know, that working parallel on another case is not letting Carisi down. He would not want us to neglect our duties.” She paused. “Besides, we're not making much progress and taking a break from it might give you a new perspective.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Rollins asked, “So what are we going to do?”

“Take Fin and go to Flynn's parents to see how the kids are doing,” Benson told her firmly. “Make sure that they're alright and that the court orders are executed.”

“Alright,” Rollins nodded.

“Make sure that Flynn doesn't tag along.”

Nodding again, Rollins opened the office door. Determined to do her job, she returned to the squad room to inform Fin. Together, they went over to Brenton Flynn to accompany him outside, assuring him that they would be checking on his children.

During the drive, Rollins tried to anticipate what they would find.

She tried to engage in the conversation that Fin tried to keep going.

She tried to focus on the task ahead.

But she still could not stop thinking about Carisi, wondering if he was still alive and what he might be going through.

 

xXx

 

**unknown location**

**Saturday, June 25**

 

Lying prone with his limbs tied together at a short length of rope, Carisi's breathing soon became labored. After crying, his nose also was blocked, and he had to blow air through his nose to clear it. Now his face lay in snot and saliva as well as the men's seed.

Disgust threatened to turn his stomach upside down and Carisi desperately tried to keep himself from throwing up. Even though he had not eaten for about a day now, incapacitated as he was, vomiting might still prove to become fatal as it would impair his breathing even more.

On tongue and lips, he could still taste the weasel's skin. Unwanted memories of the man's member trying to force its way into his mouth kept playing repeatedly in his mind's eye.

Carisi did not even recall that he bit him. His jaw joints were still hurting from the brutal grip that was meant to keep him from resisting, and he wondered if he had been able to bite hard enough to puncture the man's skin.

Either way, he had once more scraped past the sexual assault.

_Stop lying to yourself. Being covered in their cum also is assault._

'Technicalities,' he heard Barba's voice in the back of his mind.

With a distressed moan, Carisi strained against his bonds, but all that he achieved was tightening them. Wriggling was next to impossible. There was nothing he could do to make his situation more bearable.

With his breathing as shallow as it was, he could not even call out for help.

In case he decided to show such a weakness that was.

Carisi had no idea how long he lay in that pitiful condition. Suspended in solitude, his sense of time was somewhat off. When he heard the door opening and footsteps on their way downstairs, he waited with bated breath, hoping for a reprieve even though he knew that it was more likely to get worse.

By the black sneakers alone, he could not tell which of them towered over him. A groan escaped him when the man took hold of his ties, which jostled his limbs, and severed the rope that connected his wrists and ankles. A bolt of pain shot through his body as his legs dropped to the floor,

“Argh!”

“Oh, c'mon! Don't make such a fuss.”

_Pat_ , Carisi realized.

Colorful spots danced in front of his eyes when Pat took hold on his left arm and turned him onto his right side. Becoming dizzy from the pain, Carisi fought against the bile that rose in his throat as Pat dragged him sideways. Then, he felt himself turned onto his back and pulled up to a sitting position. His head banged into metal when Pat leaned him against the steel post.

“Ouch,” Pat taunted.

_Actually, it did hurt, but it's not as if someone's keeping track._

Carisi attempted to ignore Pat threading the rope under his arms and across his chest but failed. He was acutely aware of everything the man did. At that moment, his captor was wrapping the rope around the post and pulling it tight, making the detective groan.

“I don't think you have any reason to complain,” Pat scoffed.

_Still hurt,_ Carisi thought wryly. Being manhandled like that was humiliating, which was turning out to be a recurring occurrence since they brought him here.

“I could've left you lying there,” Pat stated, kicking at the detective's legs to straighten them out.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Carisi suppressed another groan.

“You're not grateful?” Pat asked snidely.

Weighing his options, Carisi ground out a, “Thank you.”

“I expected more from you, Junior, but I suppose the very least you can do is better than nothing at all.”

Picking up the water bottle, Pat sat down beside his bound captive. He got a handkerchief out and unscrewed the bottle to pour some water onto the fabric. Then he reached up to wipe Carisi's cheek.

“Roy's pretty mad at you,” he snickered. “But I guess it was his own fault. He should've checked to make sure you knew what to do first. One should know the right techniques, don't you think?”

This time, Carisi remained silent, stoically looking ahead while Pat cleaned his face. Forcing himself to keep breathing steadily, he tried to ignore his current condition. But all his imagination could not distract him from being naked and immobilized at the hands of a sadistic man in a cabin out in the boondocks.

His breath hitched.

“Something wrong?” Pat asked conversationally.

Carisi shook his head.

“Hmmm, you could've fooled me.”

Putting the cloth aside, he lifted the water bottle to his captive's lips, and Carisi drank out of need until Pat took the bottle away.

“Better, right?”

Unable to face his captor, Carisi nodded.

“Don't you have something to say to me?” Pat prodded, his voice taking on a menacing note. “Do I have to constantly remind you to show your appreciation?”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Carisi took a steadying breath and hoped that his own voice would not waver when he looked at Pat and replied, “Yes, better.” As an afterthought, he added, “Thank you.”

“There you go.”

Pat smiled, and though it seemed genuine, Carisi could not help but speculate what next this monster had in store for him. Something was up, he just did not know what it was yet.

Right at that moment, his stomach grumbled audibly.

Pat grinned.

“Awwwww, now look who's hungry,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. As if the idea occurred to him only now, he went on, “The poor detective hasn't eaten since yesterday. Do you want something?”

Of course Carisi wanted food. By now, his insides were churning with hunger, the uncomfortable sensation mingling with the pain from the punches. Still, he was reluctant to voice it. His body, though, had no such qualms, growling loudly this time.

“Yes, please,” he whispered, which elicited a wicked grin from his captor.

Smoothly, Pat got to his feet.

“Then I'll go and get you something.”

As pleasant as it sounded, it surely was not meant to be a favor. While Pat was gone, Carisi wracked his mind about what kind of sick game his captor was up to. It could well be possible that he was actually fetching something, but Carisi had a bad feeling about what he might have to do in order to get it. Even as hungry as he was, he was not sure if he could bite the bullet and play along.

With dread, he heard Pat return. A moment later, he was back by his side, and Carisi saw two items in his hands. At once, his mouth began to water while his insides constricted painfully. Hunger warred against repulsion at the mere sight of the two pieces of food.

“Hmmm, now what would you like, Detective?” Pat said, his tone lacking any sort of compassion or respect. Holding the choices up in turn with his suggestions, he went on, “A banana? Bananas are good... full of potassium. Or maybe you'd prefer a nice pb&j?”

Staring involuntarily at the sandwich in Pat's hand, Carisi swallowed his disgust.

Pat snickered.

_Guess he takes my stare as longing. Jeez, I hate that stuff!_

Just for a second, the thought that his abductors might know about his abhorrence against peanut butter crossed his mind, but as that seemed so unlikely it certainly was a coincidence that Pat taunted him so viciously with the food now.

Either way, Carisi still felt sick.

“Judging by your grumbling stomach, I'd think you want both,” Pat went on, unimpressed, and put the sandwich on the shelf. Then, he began to wag the banana in Carisi's direction. “Mmmm, looks so good. Still a bit green, sweet, yet firm. It's perfect.”

Holding it up in front of Carisi's face, he asked, “Now, don't you want to take a bite?”

Though his stomach revolted with hunger, the sight did not appeal to Carisi. After the most recent events, the shape of the fruit too closely resembled a male human's genitals.

“No?” Pat mused. “I thought you're hungry.”

_What's he expecting me to do? Take a bite of it with the peel still on?_

Letting the fruit hover right under the detective's nose, he waited, looking at Carisi expectantly.

Carisi, on the other hand, could not decide whether or not he should give it a try.

_It might be my only chance to get food,_ the told himself. _Who knows if they'll grant me anything else._

Reluctantly, he complied, opening up just slightly.

Pat used it.

Pushing the banana deep into Carisi's mouth, he hit the back of his throat, making him gag. The detective's eyes grew wide with shock. Before it even registered in his mind, the fruit was gone again. Gasping and coughing, Carisi fought for air. His whole body spasmed, damned to immobility by the ties.

“Now what?” Pat demanded to know, seemingly astounded. “I thought you wanted to eat. Here.”

Pushing the banana against the detective's lips, he demanded entrance.

A sob caught in Carisi's chest and he felt his eyes burn. Breathing heavily through his nose, he clenched his jaw shut.

“One way or another you'll obey,” Pat told him matter-of-factly. “I could threaten you with violence, but I don't think that would get us anywhere. Am I right?”

Looking at his captor with a mix of rage and misery, Carisi did his best to stand his ground. Deep inside of him, though, he felt his resolve crumble. The man was up to something and he was certain that he would not like it.

_Not one bit._

A slap across his face made his head jerk to the right. Carisi just kept it there, casting his eyes down, until he felt a knuckle under his chin that lifted his head back up to face Pat.

“It doesn't have to be you, you know,” the man shrugged lightly.

Carisi knew better than to feel relief at that statement.

“I'm sure I could find myself another toy,” Pat went on. “Know any other boys with pretty mouths I could play with?”

_Not off the top of my head, no._

“Or a pretty girl?” Pat drawled, leaning in to get in Carisi's face.

Immediately, his mind went to the women who were closest to him in his life, his sisters... his partner.

_Bella!_

_Rollins!_

Carisi choked.

“What about that girl you used to date? I'm sure Natalie is skilled in giving head,” Pat remarked.

Shocked, Carisi's eyes went wide.

_Natalie? How do they know about Natalie?_ _We only went out a couple of dates and it's been ages since then. How long have they been watching me?_

“How long have you been stalking me?” he groused.

“Stalking? Nah... Spied on you? Maybe just a little.” A devilish grin played around Pat's lips.

“Why?”

Apparently, he was still supposed to figure that out himself as he got no response. Instead, Pat caressed his left cheek and played with his earlobe, the banana still in his hand.

“I'm sure you could think of a few names,” his captor went on unfazed. “Though I'm pretty sure that I could drag in anyone and get the same reaction, am I right?”

Eyeing the detective intently, he smirked at him wolfishly.

“I could go to the nearby school and catch me a pretty girl, drag her down here and have her right in front of you.”

Hearing that, Carisi's mouth went dry. Not for a second did he doubt the lewd threat.

_At first sight, I wouldn't have taken him for someone who's so savvy in emotional manipulation. Maybe it's instinct. Many psychopaths blend in perfectly and it's not until they get caught with half a dozen bodies buried in their back yard that people realize what type of monsters they really are._

A chill ran down his spine.

_It's not necessary that he resorts to brute force. His weapon are mind-games and this one's not failing to work._

At first sight, he would never have taken Pat for someone who was so savvy in emotional manipulation. Maybe it was instinct. Many psychopaths blended perfectly in, and everybody was surprised when they were finally found out. Pat did not necessarily resort to brute force. His weapon were mind-games.

This one did not fail to work.

“Serve and protect,” Pat mused aloud, letting a fingertip run along Carisi's jaw and up to put it over his lips. When the detective angled his head back, he slapped his face again. “That's your motto, isn't it? To serve and protect. You're a cop. It's your duty. And it's so easy to do. Just do what you're told. All you have to do is to serve me.”

Holding up the banana, Pat brought it to Carisi's mouth again, letting the tip of the fruit run along the trembling lips.

Slightly shaking his head, Carisi faltered, “Please. No. Don't...” His voice broke.

“C'mon, Junior,” Pat sneered. “Perform for me.”

Feeling sick to his stomach, Carisi considered the consequences. Would the man be true to his threat? Catch a child off the streets and rape her? _Yes_. Looking Pat dead in the eyes, Carisi was certain he would do it if he did not comply.

_Protect the innocent._

_Mother Mary, forgive me!_

With that thought, Carisi caved in the end, opening his mouth. Once more, the banana slid inside, slower this time and without force. He felt it twist in his oral cavity and was tempted to bite down.

Thinking of the innocent bystander that his kidnappers might drag into this hostage situation, he refrained from resistance. Feeling tears roll down his face, he used his tongue and lips to toy with the fruit as Pat moved it forward and back. Once more, Pat shoved it in deep, making Carisi choke and cough.

“Sweet cheeks,” Pat snickered, removing the fruit. “I knew you were talented. You've earned a reward.”

Setting the now spit covered banana on the ground, the man reached over to the shelf and picked up the sandwich before offering it to Carisi. Despite his revolting stomach, Carisi took it, following an advice from his police training: If taken captive, don't refuse food, no matter how unappetizing, as it helps keep your strength and morale.

_It's just a peanut butter and jelly sandwich_ _for heaven's sake!_ _I had plenty of those back in elementary school._ _It shouldn't get to me like that._

Having taken one bite of the sandwich, Carisi chewed it slowly, trying not to be revolted by the taste and texture of the peanut butter as it stuck heavily to his tongue. The thick paste like substance attached itself to the corners of his mouth, making the bread dense and hard to swallow. Bite by bite, he consumed the sandwich. Grateful, at least, that his hatred of peanut butter kept his mind off of what Pat had made him do with the banana.

When the sandwich was finished, Pat reached down and picked the banana up off the floor.

“See how it goes?” he leered, holding his _training object_ up between thumb and index finger, “You obey, you get rewarded.”

As the phallicfood dangled in front of him, Carisi closed his eyes.

“So...,” Pat drawled, “let's try this again. Let's see if you are a little more cooperative this time.”

Clenching his jaw, Carisi shook his head. He already felt sick, so his stomach began to revolt, threatening to return the loathed sandwich, when the firm round fruit touched his upper lip.

“Open your mouth, Junior,” Pat commanded mercilessly. “C'mon.”

Turning his head as far to the left as it would go, the detective did not relish the idea of being forced to fellate the banana a second time.

“Oh, you will,” Pat hissed. “Look at me!”

Reluctantly, Carisi did... and stared straight at the banana in Pat's fist. The man's free hand touched his cheek, caressing him lightly. One fingertip touched his upper lip, smoothing over it to the corner of his mouth and following it all to the other side. From there, it moved across his bottom lip, toying with it and tugging down in order to part his lips.

Silently crying out for help inside his mind, Carisi fought a desperate fight for some semblance of composure.

Fingertips trailed along his jaw and back, up to his hairline. Threading his fingers in Carisi's hair, Pat gripped it tight.

“Open... up,” Pat ordered. “Now.”

_It's just a banana!_

Crushed by how futile any attempt at resistance felt, Carisi caved, complying with trembling lips and more tears spilling. As soon as his captive opened his quivering lips, Pat pushed the banana in, as deep as it would go. Carisi gagged on it. He felt his lips stretch around the firm flesh and how it slid back and forth a couple of times.

All he could think about as Pat thrust the yellow fruit into his mouth, was that he had to protect whoever might be so unfortunate to cross those madmen's path.

“Suck on it,” Pat demanded, his voice hoarse.

Incapable of resisting, Carisi followed the order. Thankfully, his vision was blurred by tears. What almost drove him over the edge was that he could not breathe, his nose blocked and his mouth stuffed.

Then it was gone.

Gasping and breathing heavily with his mouth hanging open and his lips trembling, Carisi fought for what little grip he still had on reality. He could feel the other man's hot breath on his skin, when Pat gripped his hair and whispered in his ear threateningly, “To make one thing abundantly clear: When someone wants you to serve them, then you'll be at service. No biting. I mean, you clearly know how it works now, don't you?”

Carisi choked.

_That's what this was about_ , he numbly thought. _He wanted to prevent me from making a habit of biting._

Despite feeling thoroughly humiliated, he nodded.

Still keeping his voice low and menacing, Pat queried, “Aren’t you grateful that I took the time to show you the proper technique?”

When Carisi did not immediately respond, Pat slammed his head back against the steel bar, hard.

“Yes,” the detective cried, panting with the effort to form a, “Thank you.”

“Sir, Junior,” Pat corrected on a low hiss. “You're going to call me _sir.”_

Quivering in his bonds, Carisi struggled for words until he pushed over trembling lips, “Thank you, sir.”

Letting go of the detective's hair but still leaning in his personal space, Pat demanded, “I’m going to need more than that. Tell me that you’ve learned your lesson.”

Oh, yes, Carisi had learned his lesson indeed. Everything in him rebelled against his captor. He would definitely not make the same mistake twice and underestimate the man.

“I...” Carisi stuttered, “I've learned... my lesson, sir. I'm to... to serve.” The words almost got stuck in his throat, “N-not bite. Thank you, sir.”

Sitting back on his heels, Pat offered the banana to his captive.

“You can take it,” Pat remarked as he peeled it and held it up for Carisi to bite off a piece. “You've earned it after all.”

 

tbc...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I hope the chapter could make up for it. We sent it back and forth a couple of times. You can say it was a joint effort.  
> Big thanks to [User24601](https://archiveofourown.org/users/User24601/pseuds/User24601) for her beta-work! You're awesome!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carisi undergoes a submissive experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience. Sometimes, my beta is really overwhelmed by how long my chapters can become. So I hope said length can make up for the wait. Enjoy! And big thanks to [User24601](https://archiveofourown.org/users/User24601/pseuds/User24601)!

**unknown location**

**Saturday, June 25**

 

Due to the lack of both hydration and proper rest, Carisi was just as testy as he was exhausted. At least he had been fed something, but the way it happened still ate away at his psyche. Even though he desperately wished he could sleep, the much needed rest he desperately required remained unobtainable. A couple of times, his head lolled forward as he dozed off before he startled awake again. Each time, his body reflexively tried to move as he jerked himself awake, which was made all the more difficult by the ropes that bound him. Being forced to sit upright, the post at his back as comfortable as a dentist chair made with railroad ties, he could not find a way to relax.

The headache, that had resulted from getting his head banged against the pole, did not make the situation any better.

As long as sleep kept eluding him, his thoughts kept returning to Pat's mind-game.

_A banana! It was just a fucking banana!_

There his thought process stumbled.

 _Basic_ _ally,_ he realized with a start. _I just got sexually assaulted with a freaking banana!_

Unpeeled, the fruit had been firm and round. It had felt, for all it was worth, like an organic sex toy as Pat used it as such, pushing into Carisi's mouth and simulating the act.

_Twice._

Carisi shuddered.

Recalling how the fruit repeatedly filled his mouth, touching the back of his throat and making him gag, he felt his stomach churn at the repulsive memory.

_Don't throw up! It was hard enough to gulp the disgusting peanut butter down. I don't want it to come back up!_

Thankfully, his meager meal of a pb&j sandwich and the aforementioned banana stayed where they belonged.

 _Mind games. It's only in my head. A banana isn't_ _going to do me in_ _for heaven's sake!_

Still the repulsion reverberated throughout his body, making his limbs tremble and the bonds biting into his flesh even more.

_Psychological torture. So perhaps this feeling of nausea is just psychosomatic then?_

With a groan, he tried to relax his muscles. To him it felt as if his body constantly strained against the ties, a reflex born out of fear and disgust.

_Fear._

Loathed as he was to admit to it, the word accurately described his current feelings. Over the course of approximately a day and a half, he had been lured into a trap, beaten, tied up, almost cooked to death in an overheated trunk, forced to strip, pissed on, hosed down, kept in handcuffs in a basement, hogtied, ejaculated on, and coerced into engaging in sexual practices.

_So yes, I'm scared. But, Mother Mary save me, I've every right to be scared! I guess anyone in my situation would feel the same._

Realizing it was nonsensical to even try to get his mind off of what had happened, Carisi switched into cop-mode. He then attempted to instead view the events that had to occurred from an investigative stand-point. What trace evidence would’ve been left at the crime scene? What route had they taken to get to the cabin and would there be CCTV footage?

_Rollins might not have much to work with. She won't know what's happened to me!_

The lump of lead that seemed to set in his stomach as the result of his musings was sobering.

_I bet they got rid of my phone along with the watch, so eventually, the squad will track and find those, but will that give them any clue about what happened to me?_

_I doubt it._

Miserably, he bent his head to the side, first right then left. Bending it backward was thwarted by the steel post. Stretching his immobilized body as best as he could, his shoulder and back muscles vehemently protested, sending sharp spikes of pain through his joints and down his sides. While his legs were more or less alright, his arms had started to go numb.

_Hope it's not a first sign of nerve damage. Though,_ _I have no idea why I'm worrying about_ _hurt nerves or_ _rope burns. Chances are that I'll end up hastily buried somewhere in the woods behind this cabin._

_The only question is what else I'll have to endure before they get bored._

For lack of anything better to do, Carisi’s mind kept churning about all the bits of information he had about his situation. This naturally led him to contemplate what he knew about each of his captors.

First, there was Pat. The man’s volatile behavior was exasperating and migraine-inducing and Carisi did not fancy to speculate how much of that he would have to endure. That was _if_ he lived long enough to experience more of that man’s mood swings.

Then Cody, clearly the muscle of the group.Though not a man of many words, he did not seem stupid. Quite obviously, his strength predestined him to guard their captive. A chill ran across Carisi's skin as he remembered the ease with which the man had lifted him. Some of the most terrifying seconds of his abduction, he owed to Cody.

Next, there was Gil. A dark horse if there ever was one. The first time Carisi had heard the man speak was when he had told his comrade that trying to force a cop to preforming fellatio was a bad idea.

_Not that it worked._

With horror, Carisi recalled the few seconds that eclipsed before Roy ( _the fucking weasel-face sadistic son of a bitch_ ) had backed away with a howl. In that time, the man’s member had briefly breached his mouth. Thinking back on that moment, he almost believed he could still taste the foulness of the man's penis.

In addition to making lewd comments and sadistic insinuations, it appeared that Roy was a well-trained fighter. And despite the man's diminished stature, it was him that scared Carisi the most. The man's short fuse worried the detective, as he knew Roy would blow sooner rather than later. At that point there would be no stopping him from getting his way with the detective.

 _Think of something else_ , he told himself as his imagination ran wild. _There’s a plethora of other subjects. What about the lamb chops that I always wanted to try and make? Yes, a nice set of grilled lamb chops, served with a side of sautéed carrots, zucchini and red onions. Along with a freshly baked Italian bread they'll be perfect. Dried mint and garlic will give them that extra little special something._

Stifling a sob, he shook his head vigorously. What good did fantasizing about food do?

Pushing those thoughts aside, he searched for another distraction. At some point, his mind returned to law-school. Hearing his teacher in the back of his mind, he mused about which crimes the men already had committed.

_Kidnapping, for one. Taking me hostage and holding me captive adds unlawful detention to the list. Beating me? Would that be malicious injury or assault and battery? I guess, if their prior treatment of me is any indication of what is yet to come, they’ll eventually just be charged with aggravated assault. Getting groped while they stuffed me in the trunk was enough to justify a count of forcible touching. Roy just ticked the box for sexual misconduct. The only form of sexual assault I’ve yet to endure is to be full-on raped._

_And if I get killed trying to fight them off, they'll be in for murder._

Speculating about his own death, Carisi came to the conclusion, _At least I can be sure that they'll go down hard. Our squad will find them and nobody's better qualified to send them to jail than Barba._

A small smile cracked his features as he thought of how much he loved watching their assistant district attorney at court. As a prosecutor, the man was relentless. The Special Victims Unit could count itself lucky that a talented and sharp lawyer like Rafael Barba was prosecuting their cases. If something bad had to happen to you, then you wanted a man like Barba fight for you in court, bringing the offender to justice.

Chuckling to himself, Carisi remembered occasions at the office when their prosecutor showed his sassy side, cracking a sarcastic joke or firing off a snide come back. Sometimes, it was amusing to watch the ADA's antics as he discussed cases with Lieutenant Benson. She had a way of getting concessions out of him, and occasionally, Barba only seemed to agree to one of her demands in order to get out of the precinct in one piece.

When Carisi had joined the squad, it did not take long for him to recognize the professional friendship between the two.

A pang of jealousy hit him.

While he had been preparing for his bar exam, he had wished for a similar connection with Barba. It had been a lucky break when the attorney had allowed him to shadow him. Though he had tried to hide it, Carisi had practically burst with enthusiastic excitement.

_I wonder if Barba noticed._

Admittedly, the astute attorney was not the easiest character to work with but it' was well worth it.

Though their relationship had become less complicated, Carisi still wished for the casual way of dealing with each other that Benson and Barba had.

Reminiscing about the prosecutor holding one of his polished jury arguments, he got distracted by imagining the man’s expressive body language, especially his eloquent features.  He had gotten distracted by those same features while they had been in court together, fantasizing about spending time together, just the two of them. Nothing inappropriate, just a thank-you-dinner for helping him pass the bar. He actually had wanted to extend an invitation but ended up refraining at the last second.

_I chickened out. Next time, I'll just ask him._

Biting his bottom lip, he prayed that there would be a next time.

_If I survive this, I'll ask him out for sure. Where to go? Not Forlini's. Maybe cooking for him really is the best option. Or is that over the top?_

Delving into his fantasies for the time being, he finally nodded off due to exhaustion.

 

xXx

 

**Manhattan SVU**

**Saturday, June 25**

 

Actually, Fin was glad that Rollins was not in the mood for conversation. Anything he could say seemed so empty and they rode in silence both on their way to the Flynn residence and on their way back to the precinct.

As he focused himself on driving, his thoughts turned to their more pressing case.

_Why the hell was Carisi taken? Who could have any interest in him and why?_

So far, his abduction looked like he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. If it was a spontaneous crime, they had little chance of finding him.

_Nobody wants to admit to it, but he might already be dead._

A soft sigh escaped him.

Trying not to focus on the more morbid possibilities, Fin transitioned to contemplating about the few solid details they had.

_Carisi’s captors went to the effort of tying him up, which indicates they wanted him alive. Whether or not they knew of his position in law-enforcement before the kidnapping was carried out was still up for debate. But one things was for sure, they certainly knew he was a cop by the time they had stuffed him into that trunk._

_So we don’t know if the perpetrators specifically target Carisi but if they did, then why? Could it be related to a previous case he worked on? We don’t know enough about Carisi’s work history to make that judgement._

_What if it isn’t work related? Could his family be the reason? He does have a brother-in-law that got into some trouble a while back but he’s getting his footing and has been doing his best to stay on the straight and narrow. His other family members all have regular jobs but they don’t have enough money to pay ransom._

_Could it possibly be some personal issue? Maybe he slept with the wrong guy’s sister._

_I have no idea but digging through Carisi’s life won’t be pleasant._

As they were nearing the precinct, Fin shut his musings away in the back of his mind. Until they had booked Mrs. Flynn, he had to postpone delving further into their colleague's disappearance.

Glancing at Rollins, Fin could see that she also was deep in thought. Their stint at Mr. Flynn's parents' home had not been able to change that.

He still was surprised that they actually discovered Mrs. Flynn there, hiding behind a curtain. It was like one of those melodramatic movies, the cops dragging the arrested mother out, the kids crying, the parents-in-law complaining.

When Fin parked their squad car, Rollins shook off her melancholy. Together, they led Aileen Flynn into the precinct and locked her up. With her bail revoked, she would have to await her trial in prison.

Finally sitting down at his desk, Fin took a moment to try and clear his head but inevitably, his thoughts once again returned to the missing detective.

_The guy wasn’t as weird as he had seemed at first. Well, sometimes he was but I guess I just got used to it. Most of the time, Carisi manages to be a decent and useful detective, even funny, on occasion. He got a bit annoying while he was studying for his bar exam, spouting legal facts unnecessarily, but after he passed that lessened and working with him was more easygoing._

Wishing that he could be annoyed by his colleague instead of worried sick over him, Fin’s gaze was drawn to his fellow detective's desk adjoining Rollins' and from there to the whiteboard.

_Too little to work with. All we've got is the footage of the two cams that observed the alley. We don't even know for sure how many people were involved. From what we heard on the recorded call, there was a brawl and Carisi was forced on the defensive, uttering the ten-thirteen code._

His view drifted from the pictures to some of the notes that other cops had pinned up there. They listed the few hints that came in over the telephone hotline. None of the reported sightings got them any further. Following them up occupied a lot of time and manpower and still led to nothing.

Staring at the meager results of their investigation, Fin thought about all the possibilities. Following one of his theories, he turned to Rollins.

“Amanda, did you notice if Carisi got any suspicious mail?”

Confused, she looked up from her laptop.

“Mail? Like what?”

“Like threats?” Fin came back. “Anybody with a grudge against him?”

Rollins shook her head, “If something like that had caught my attention, I would've told everyone about it earlier. Why? Do you think Carisi would've gotten something like that and not mention it to me?”

“We just need a new approach,” Fin told her as he got up and crossed over to stand beside her desk. “Following the immediate leads have ultimately gotten us nowhere. It's time to start doing some digging. We need to get to the bottom of this. The sooner the better.”

“If there is a bottom,” Rollins mused.

“You still believe this to be a spontaneous crime?” Fin prodded as he perched himself halfway onto her desk.

“At least we have no indication otherwise,” Rollins declared.

“Wiping prints off the phone? I call that intent,” Fin noted. “And what about the pictures they took? Why snap them? Why throw the phone away afterwards?”

“To avoid tracking,” Rollins frayed.

“What about the photos?”

“To humiliate him.”

“Then why not send the pictures before throwing the phone away?” Fin insisted.

An answer on her lips, Rollins opened her mouth but snapped it back shut. Scooting back in her seat, she let the question linger.

“They knew we would track the phone,” she finally deduced. “They left the pictures for us,”

Nodding thoughtfully, Fin challenged. “Purposely leaving photo evidence behind for the police to find in order to humiliate their victim, what does that tell us?”

Hearing this, Rollins' features fell. She did not have an answer except for one: that Fin might be right.

“We should talk with Liv,” she finally conceded.

 

xXx

 

**unknown location**

**Saturday, June 25**

 

Carisi woke to being unceremoniously shoved and falling sideways on the concrete, the tight ropes that had restrained him to the post having been removed. Still bound by his ankles and wrists, he could not stop his fall. A groan escaped him when his head bounced against the floor.

“Time to wake up, Junior,” Pat's mocking voice pierced into his consciousness.

 _How late is it?_ Carisi wondered and inwardly cursed at his carelessness. _How could I allow myself to fall asleep? I need to stay alert in order to anticipate their next move._

Taking a hold on the detective's tied ankles, Pat fumbled the knots open and unwrapped the rope from the long legs.

Cautiously, the detective flexed his leg muscles... A mistake. Judging by the sharp smell of urine, he realized he had wet himself. Due to the tight bonds, he had not felt his suppressed need, and being tied up that thoroughly, he had not been able to use the bucket anyway.

“What a mess!” he heard Gil's voice. “We should make him clean it up himself.”

“Next time,” Pat came back.

Relieved, Carisi suppressed a sigh. _Don't draw their attention._

“Though there should _not_ be a next time,” Pat remarked wickedly.

Right at that moment, Carisi did not care. Tentatively moving his fingers, he tried to determine, how severe the numbness in his limbs really was. He sucked in a sharp breath when Pat took hold of his ties and yanked on them for better access. One cut with the big knife of his and the rope fell away.

Forcing himself to breathe deeply and regularly, Carisi lay on his side, slowly feeling a prickling sensation start in his arms. So far, his limbs were hard to control, so he ceased to try. In addition, he was sure that the men would not like his attempts to move about, and he really did not want to bring their wrath down on himself.

_What are they up to?_

He heard the wet slaps of a mop and the gurgling of water splashing from a hose. When the fluid hit his body, he found himself incapable to hold the remaining liquid in his bladder. Their grunts of displeasure could not change his reflex. Actually, Carisi was mortified about having lost control. He just hoped he would not be punished in addition.

From behind, he could virtually feel Pat's scrutinizing gaze pierce him. The man probably wondered why his captive did not try to move. Carisi was in no hurry, though. In his current condition, he could not even think about trying to escape. He had to bide his time and wait for the right opportunity, which hopefully would come sooner rather than later.

_Do whatever you have to do in order to survive. Don't think about the implications. Just be patient and you'll get your chance._

After a couple of minutes, Carisi was roughly pulled to his feet. Thankfully, his limbs had recovered since being cut loose, so he could stand tall if a little unsteady between his captors.

“Don't even think about trying anything,” Pat threatened.

_Wouldn't dream of it._

Taking him by the arm, Pat maneuvered him to the stairwell. As it was not broad enough for two men beside each other, Pat dragged the detective along behind himself as Gil followed. The other two men waited at the top of the stairs. Flanked by Roy and Cody, Carisi was led to a door that Pat opened with a flourish.

“You have fifteen minutes,” he declared, stepping aside to let their captive pass.

Upon entering, Carisi was surprised by being taken to a bathroom. When the door closed behind him, he darted to the window. Opening the frame of frosted-glass, he had to bury his hopes at the sight of sturdy bars that made the opening escape-proof. Taking hold on the bars, he rattled on them, trying to work them loose. Unfortunately, they were solidly anchored, preventing him from making a break for it. He could have screamed with desperation.

_I should've known._

Following a stress induced need, he went to the toilet to relieve himself. When he washed his hands afterwards, he tried not to look into the mirror on the wall, but at some point, he just had to raise his gaze. His hair was a mess, unruly and caked with their dried fluids, while first stubble shadowed his cheeks. Aside from his split lip and a couple of bruises, he did not see any bad wounds.

Looking down at himself, though, he found several contusions and lacerations as well as the cut that Pat had made.

_And rope burns. Not too serious, I think, but still hurting._

Only when he looked up again and his gaze fell on his reflection, he actually grasped what he had right in front of himself.

_A weapon!_

Reaching up for the mirror, he quickly discovered it was firmly attached to the wall. Then wrapping his hand in a towel, he slammed his fist against it.

_What the hell?_

He had expected it to shatter and was surprised to see that it was still intact. Disillusioned, he did not try and break anything else because he knew it would probably be futile and a waste of what little alone time he had.

So he searched for anything else he could use against his captors. On a cupboard, he found a huge towel as well as gray track suit bottoms. Going through the drawers, he looked for anything useful, but realized that the men were thorough in removing every object that could cause harm in any way.

With a sigh, Carisi turned away and decided to take a shower. The hot water burnt in his wounds, but he welcomed the pain, as it reminded him that he was still alive. A few minutes later, he was clean, which already made him feel much better.

_I'm afraid they'll remedy that soon._

As he did not know how much time he had left, he began with toweling off quickly, but backpedaled a second later, hissing with pain as the terrycloth rubbed over the scrapes he had suffered falling in the yard.

_Well done, Sonny._

As fast as possible without hurting himself, he finished drying his body. Pleasing them was not his intent, but he also did not relish the idea of annoying them unnecessarily. As much as he hated to admit it, he had been grateful for the private time to clean himself up though he did not understand why he had been afforded the luxury.

_Probably because they find the thought of touching me, while still covered in their dried semen, revolting._

He had just slipped on the track pants, when the door opened.

“Now look at this!” Pat cheered, mockingly clapping his hands. “Our detective’s already finished.”

‘ _Oh, you’d have loved having to punish him, huh?’_ a little devil in the back of Carisi’s mind commented snidely, sounding suspiciously like Barba. It was all he could do not to chuckle.

However, his amusement evaporated as soon as his gaze fell on Roy who looked him up and down with blatant lechery.

“Come on out, Detective,” Pat commanded.

 _You can take your_ Detective _and shove it!_ Carisi thought, but as he was not suicidal, he bit back the response as he did as he was told.

At once, he was flanked again, this time by Gil and Cody. Though they did not touch him, they stayed by his side on the short way into the center of the main room of the cabin. On one side stood a comfortable corner sofa, diagonally across from a dining table.

Standing in the middle of the living room, Carisi waited for whatever they were going to deal out to him. Their expressions, ranging from angry to lecherous, did not promise anything good.

He was still trying to understand the dynamics of the group, but he was under the impression that Pat was the leader of the pack. Apparently, he wanted the detective alive but whether or not that entailed him remaining relatively unharmed was yet to be seen.

Right at that moment, Roy stepped forward. “Kneel.”

Unwilling to bow to him, Carisi did not even think of it.

“Didn't you hear me?” Roy hissed. “Get down to your knees.”

“No.”

Seeing Roy clench his teeth, Carisi could have laughed if the situation had not been so serious. It was plain to see that the man wanted to lash out, not verbally but physically.

Instead of voicing his discontent, Roy scoffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. On the periphery of his vision, Carisi saw Pat step forward, taking Roy's place who backed off just slightly.

“I guess, he just needs the right motivation,” Pat shrugged, searching the detective's gaze and holding it. “Which is just as well as we were going to establish some rules anyway.”

 _Rules?_ Carisi thought miserably with a surge of stubbornness. _He's making it sound as if he's already planned a prolonged stay._

“You can take your rules and shove them!” it burst out of him. “You're not going to-”

A resounding slap across his face wiped the rest of his sentence off his lips. Somehow, that slap felt more humiliating than a punch might have.

“Don't answer back!” Pat spat. “Don't try me. You might not like what you'd get out of it.”

“Why? You gonna slap me again?” the snarky remark slipped off Carisi's tongue.

It might not have been the best strategy to defy them but, damn it, he could not bring himself to submit to their every whim. After all, he was a New York City detective and he was not about to roll over like a dog.

Another slap hit his face, which was not to the detective's liking either. Reflexively, Carisi brought his arms up to defend himself. His first punch missed and the second was thwarted by Gil and Cody who grabbed for his arms. Clasping his limbs tight, they held him in position.

Twice more, Pat slapped him across his face, which made his cheeks smart and wounded his pride.

Getting into his captive's face, Pat went on with brutal clarity, “You're going to pay for what you've done. You were tried and found guilty,” His face even darkening further, he snarled, “An eye for an eye. You're going to do time... and nobody will find you here.”

Carisi felt sick to his stomach.

_They're going to just keep me!_

Pausing, Pat eyed Carisi intently to see if his words made an impact.

Actually, they did. Imploringly hoping that he did not project his repulsion and annoyance, Carisi felt his insides churn more with every word his captor uttered. He still did not know what had landed him in this mess, but he understood the man's wrath.

Following a cock of Pat's head, the men let go of Carisi's arms. His first reflex was to shy back from his captor who still stood within his personal space, so close that he could feel his breath on his face.

“Think of this as a correctional facility,” Pat explained menacingly. “I'm the warden, and they...” he continued as he looked around at his comrades, “they are the correctional officers.”

Stubbornly setting his jaw, Carisi glared at him.

Pat huffed.

“You will address each of us with respect, ending or beginning your responses with the title 'sir' or 'officer',” he told his captive sternly. “You're going to follow their orders as if they were mine or you'll have to face the consequences. Did I make myself clear?”

Of course, Carisi knew that he was supposed to answer, but he was not ready to cave.

A few seconds ticked by, both men staring at each other.

Out of the blue, a fist drove hard into Carisi's stomach, making him double over. At once, a hand was in his hair, bending his head back and forcing him to straighten up. That was when a second punch hit his guts. Gasping, Carisi clutched at his body, willing the pain to subside.

“What did I tell you about having to repeat myself?” Pat hissed.

One glance around showed Carisi that the other men were just waiting for a chance to blow off some steam on him. Gritting his teeth, he bit the bullet, grunting, “That you don't like it.”

“That you don't like it, SIR!” Pat thundered, successfully making his captive flinch.

“That you don't like it, sir,” Carisi parroted.

Staring him down, Pat asked, “So, did I make myself clear?”

Taking a deep breath, Carisi let it out with a growl. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Pat drawled, taking a step back. Grinning wickedly, he returned to the sofa and Roy stepped forward, resuming position in front of the detective.

Eyeing their prisoner intently, he snarled, “Kneel.”

Even though every fiber of his being rebelling against it, Carisi followed the order, as he was not hell bent on being beaten again. Going down on his knees, he still held himself straight. Glancing up, he saw Roy smirking lecherously down at him.

“Do you want to suck my cock?” Roy asked.

Carisi could not help a scoff, “Actually, no.”

Roy raised an eyebrow to this and the detective was quick to tack on a 'sir' to his response.

“Is that supposed to be a respectful answer?” Roy snarled.

Glaring up at him, Carisi replied, “Sir, I believe you expected an honest answer.”

One of the other men laughed, which certainly did not sit well with Roy.

“Say, I want to suck your cock,” Roy commanded.

Choking, Carisi tried to swallow his pride. There was no way to tell what that man was prepared to do in order to make him comply. If his survival depended on treating them to fake respect, he had to play along until his colleagues would find him or he managed to escape.

So he pressed through clenched teeth, “I want to suck your cock, sir.”

“Oh, really?” Roy chuckled. “Then why did you try to bite me?”

Breathing through bared teeth, Carisi tried to muster his strength as he answered, “A reflex, sir.” For good measure, he added, “Sorry, sir.”

Carisi's stomach revolted at the idea that Roy might want to follow it through. Not for a second did he doubt that Pat had shared, in detail, what he had made their captive do. So he had to act on the assumption that whoever demanded his _service_ , would take the mentioned measures in order to force him into submission. As he could not risk that his kidnappers dragged anyone else into this hostage situation, he would be left no choice but to comply.

Thankfully, Roy seemed to be content with his current triumph over him. An evil grin spread on the man's face as he looked over to Pat who took position at the dining table.

“I think now's the right time to show you what I bought for you,” Roy sneered, grinning at the detective viciously as Pat reached into a cardboard box atop the table.

Carisi could not help but suspect another act of villainousness. Whatever was inside that box likely was intended to cut him down… one way or another. So he was not really surprised when the first items looked like Roy bought them at a home improvement store.

“Look… here we have chains,” Pat commented, pulling the whole lengths out, “and padlocks,” he put a couple of small locks on the table.

 _Couldn’t you have chosen rope instead?_ Carisi groused inwardly. His wrists already were smarting, and he presumed that chains would hurt even more. _They're heavier, too. Why don't you_ _stick with the handcuffs?_

Spotting what Roy took out of the box next, made Carisi’s heart sink: short chains with carabiners attached at each end and a handful of double hooked carabiners. Though he knew the items were typical outdoor gear, he did not think for an instant that his captor’s were planning on going rock climbing with him. Fearing the worst, he attempted to get up and move away from the ominous items but hands on his shoulders kept him on his knees.

What Roy pulled out next were black leather cuffs.

Heavy-duty leather bondage cuffs, to be exact.

Sturdy with steel rings that looked like they could restrain an elephant.

Very real fright rose in Carisi.

However, the man was not finished yet, continuing to present his treasures. The next item was a bondage leather cross that would also tie cuffs together. It was followed by a spreader bar and ankle cuffs, that matched the handcuffs.

 _No!_ Carisi inwardly screamed as he squirmed against the hold on him. _No! Let me go! Bastards!_

Gritting his teeth, he sat tight and waited for whatever else might come, because judging by Roy’s gleeful grin, he was not finished yet. Carisi's insides hardened with dread when he saw Roy produce an also matching black leather bondage collar. Carisi knew that bondage games were ruled by the submissive partner who held the power by saying _NO_ or using a safe-word, but his gut told him that he would be denied such luxury. He was going to be forced to be solely submissive.

Carisi could not put in words how that realization made him feel.

Now that he had shown off what he brought, Roy eyed the detective gleefully.

“Hold him tight,” he demanded. “I want to see him with his new bracelets.”

Struggling fiercely, Carisi managed to bring his legs under himself. From that crouch, he reared in the men's grasp. Catching Gil and Cody by surprise, he could loosen their grip and get up to stand...

...for just a few seconds.

Then they forced him back down on his knees, spreading his arms backwards, which would make it easy for Roy to come and fit the bondage cuffs around his wrists. Picking up the leather restraints, he walked around Cody in order to put them on the detective.

Straining just for the sake of it, all Carisi could do was to endure. Breathing heavily, he tensed against the brutal hold of one man on each arm. Roy, however, went on unperturbed and pressed the firm cuff down on his right wrist. Snugly, the padded leather enclosed the joint, tightening even more when the buckle was fastened.

A squeal of anguish escaped Carisi with the realization that he was incapable to defend himself despite his police training.

Only a moment later, Roy fastened the second cuff around his left wrist.

Lowering his head, Carisi tried to hide the look of pure loathing. Not even a minute had passed since he wore his new bonds, and they already managed to chafe away his self-esteem. In the bent forward position the men held him in, he was hopelessly helpless, which he felt even more when Roy took hold of his right ankle.

Despite fighting as much as he could in his weakened state, Carisi could not prevent Roy from applying the ankle cuffs as well.

“Looking good,” Pat praised, patting Roy on the shoulder in passing. Snickering, he added, “Black is his color.”

 _Very funny,_ Carisi silently grumbled.

“Yeah, it was a good idea,” Roy sneered, taking the collar next.

“Wait,” Pat stopped him. “I'll do that.”

“Hey!” Roy complained indignantly.

“Remember the mission,” Pat firmly came back, “and keep in mind who's in charge.”

Muttering under his breath, Roy handed the collar to his comrade. The big cuff in one hand, Pat stepped forward and held a double hook out to Cody.

Gathering his last strength, Carisi tried to wriggle his way out. For just a moment, he wrangled one arm free, but then Cody gripped him tight and swiftly brought the detective's arms together. Carisi heard the hooks snap and his arms were immobilized.

Breathing heavily, Carisi refused to look up. He felt his muscles flutter with the futile attempt to come to terms with the new conditions of his imprisonment.

_A mission, huh? If they're some sort of fanatics it's unlikely I managed to talk some sense into him._

“C'mon, Detective. Look at me,” Pat commanded, clasping his captive's chin in order to enforce his order.

Baring his teeth, Carisi glared up at him, but Pat only chuckled.

“Empty threats, Detective?” he laughed. “I thought we're beyond that.”

Giving Carisi's chin a push upward, he emphasized that he should not lower his gaze again.

Towering over the detective, Pat declared as if he were some judge passing a sentence, “As a member of law enforcement, you swore to protect the most vulnerable members of society. Instead, you led an innocent to the slaughter. For this, you will pay and there will be no mercy.”

Even though he knew it was coming, Carisi's insides turned upside down. Seeing Pat bring the collar up, a whimper escaped him. The men's laughter penetrated his ears as Cody took hold of his shoulders to keep him from squirming away.

_Don't!_

Shutting reality out by closing his eyes, Carisi shuddered uncontrollably as the collar was fastened around his neck. Breathing through flaring nostrils, he wanted nothing more than to wake from this nightmare.

 _Now would be a great time for an ESU team to come_ bursting through the front door.

Nothing happened.

Nothing except Cody pulling Carisi back to his feet. Evil laughter penetrated the detective's ears. Upon opening his eyes, he was once more confronted with the sight of their leader. Catching a glimpse of the chain in Pat's hands, Carisi cringed as the man used a padlock to connect the chain to the steel ring on the collar.

_Jeez, noooo!_

“C'mon,” Pat commanded, tugging on the chain in his hand.

Leading the detective on the shackle like a dog on a leash, Pat walked a circle before he stopped beside the dining table. Picking up another padlock, he bent down to wrap the other end of the chain around the wooden support beam not far from the old-fashioned, wooden table.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

It took all his strength to hold back the tears tugging at the corners of his eyes. Carisi knew he did not have the energy to resist whatever they had next in store for him as he did as he was told. Feeling all fight drain out of him, he held still while Pat readjusted the leather cuffs with a short chain that still held his arms behind his back, but did not put as much strain on the limbs. A nudge on his shoulder made him turn back to face his captor.

“Down,” Pat commanded.

The men's laughter echoed in his ears when Carisi once more knelt on the ground. _Maybe I can manage to bring my arms to the front with the looser tie._

“You think that'll make him more pliable?” Roy mused aloud.

“At least those cuffs make him easier to handle,” Gil commented.

“And they make him look sexy,” Roy snickered, ruffling the detective's damp hair as he walked past him to the kitchen.

Carisi closed his eyes, being under the impression that they were done for now. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

Feeling something slide over his eyes and being pulled tight, his gasp of shock almost locked his throat. Now he was not only immobilized but also blinded.

'Take it as a compliment,' the little devil on his shoulder remarked wryly, 'Looks like they're intimidated by whatever threat you might still be to them.'

Carisi scowled at the voice in his head that sounded so much like Barba in his trademark snark. Surprisingly, the biting comment helped ground him.

He heard the men retreat to the adjacent room and a moment later, the clatter of pots and pans, dishes and cutlery reached his ear. Apparently, they were preparing a meal.

Blanking out their voices, Carisi tried to come to terms with his fate. The new bonds were hardly tolerable. Using the leeway of the short chain, he fingered the left leather handcuff until he felt the buckle on the back of his wrist. With horror, he realized that it was secured with a small padlock. Painfully, a breath hitched in his chest.

'Pull yourself together!' Barba's voice rang in his subconscious. 'You're wearing the cuffs, not the other way round.'

_If it only was that easy._

Concentrating on the sounds around him, Carisi deduced that the men were beginning to set the table. He smelled fried meat which made him aware of how hungry he was. Chances were, though, that he would not get anything.

Carisi heard chairs being moved when the men sat down, amicably talking about football.

'Stay calm. If they want to keep you, they need to feed you.'

Inwardly snorting, Carisi rolled his eyes under the blindfold. Actually, he was hungry, but kneeling on the floor, chained to the post, and blindfolded, Carisi felt exactly like they wanted him to feel:

degraded.

Though his throat felt tight with loathing, his stomach grumbled audibly.

“That's sounding suspiciously as if you are hungry, Junior,” Pat snickered.

His voice hoarse, Carisi replied, “Yes, sir,”

“What?” Pat came back. “I didn't understand a word. You need to speak louder.”

Once more rolling his eyes, Carisi said more firmly, “Yes, sir. I'm hungry.”

“Then you should eat something,” Gil suggested and the others laughed.

'Very funny.'

Distracted by Barba's internal counterpart, Carisi tried to ignore them.

“No,” Pat announced. “Our detective doesn't deserve to eat with the rest of us decent folk. It's his turn to suffer.”

As he did not receive another order, he remained kneeling where he was, his legs slowly becoming numb and his back beginning to hurt, while the oppressing dark put him on edge.

'They must be really scared of you.'

Inwardly smirking at the counselor's comment, Carisi succumbed to his fate.

 

tbc...

 

A/N: ESU – emergency services unit, NYPD's SWAT

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The squad makes some disconcerting discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support by commenting as well as for the kudos. I'm appreciating you so much. Thanks! Enjoy the new chapter!  
> Special thanks to [User24601](https://archiveofourown.org/users/User24601/pseuds/User24601) for her beta-work.

**Manhattan SVU**

**Saturday, June 25**

 

Striding into the squad room, past the holding cell, Lieutenant Benson approached her two detectives huddled over some paperwork on Amanda's desk.

“I see you've taken Aileen Flynn into custody.”

“Yeah,” Rollins confirmed. “Safe and sound.”

After violating the court’s orders and having her bail revoked, Mrs. Flynn was looking at being a guest of the New York Department of Corrections until her trial. At least the children were going to have some sort of peace in the meantime. Now if only their father would be allowed to see them, then the Flynn family might be able to start healing their broken relationships. 

“Have you already informed Barba?”

“I was about to,” Fin threw in, before walking to his desk and reaching for his phone. Looking at Rollins expectantly, he tilted his head, urging her to address their concerns.

“Alright,” Benson nodded. “Rollins. The forensics division just let me know that they sent an additional report.”

“Alright...” Rollins mused, finding and opening the mentioned documentation. “Here it is. Okay, there's results from the lab in addition to a report from computer forensics.”

“Anything noteworthy?” Fin threw in, putting the receiver back in its cradle.

“We're just checking it out,” Rollins replied.

“Oh!”

“What is it, Rollins?” Benson asked.

“The tech combed through Carisi's phone and found some sort of spyware app on his phone that was disguised as a productivity tracker. It had access to his messages, data usage, and voice calls.”

“Someone wiretapped him?” Fin was gobsmacked and he was not the only one.

“Evidently,” Rollins nodded. “According to the lab tech, Bennett, the app could have been enclosed in an email, or even remotely installed on the phone.”

“How is that even possible?” Benson demanded to know.

“I don't understand the specifics,” Rollins replied, “but apparently there are devices that can plant Trojan Horse Codes. All you need to do is get close enough to the phone you want to spy on and send it. Works via bluetooth.”

“That's creepy.”

“If you think someone eavesdropping on Carisi's phone calls is creepy,” Rollins remarked with clear disgust tainting her voice, “you're going to be appalled when I tell you the report also indicates the app was used to track the phone's GPS location.”

“Just wait a second,” Fin cut in. “That would mean that whoever is behind this knew where Carisi went! At all times?”

Rollins nodded grimly.

“That gives his disappearance a whole new spin,” Benson mused aloud. “So far, his abduction seemed spontaneous. Tapping into his phone conversations and tracking him, though, is clear intent.”

“Not just his calls,” Rollins corrected her. “Whoever bugged the phone could listen in on _every_ conversation Carisi had. I mean, it makes sense now why his phone was constantly needing to be charged. It was being used as a remote listening device.”

“Doesn't mean there's a connection between the spyware and his disappearance,” Fin added.

“Do you seriously want to claim there's no connection?” Benson challenged. “No, it's too improbable to just be a coincidence.”

“Lieutenant,” Rollins calmly returned, “Fin's just pointing out that there's no proof of a connection.”

“How long was that program even on the phone?” Fin wanted to know.

Rollins glanced over the report.

“No idea,” she said, reaching for her phone. “I'll call the lab.”

While Rollins forwarded Fin's question to the computer forensics, Benson had a look at her computer screen.

“Apparently, they've examined the photographs that were on Carisi's phone,” she read off the display.

Actually, the lieutenant did not expect anything to come out of the pictures that would take their investigation any further, but then her eyes widened with surprise. “Oh, my God! They identified the car model!”

“Really?” Rollins was just as surprised.

“Yeah,” Benson nodded. “Computer forensics forwarded their findings to CSU. There, they used the calculated dimensions of the trunk and found a match. According to their report, we're searching for a silver VW Passat.”

“Maybe that will get us a lead,” Rollins sighed. “And Bennett said, that the app was on the phone for months. It could have been related to anything.”

“There wasn't a single VW on the traffic cams,” Fin scoffed, following the other trail. As he had watched the footage numerous times in an effort to discover anything that would lead them to finding their missing detective, he knew every car that had been recorded in the time frame of the abduction; a Volkswagen was not one of them.

“We're missing something,” Rollins sighed.

That was apparent.

“We need to go over the license plates that were registered at the scene again,” Benson told them. “Maybe there's a VW among them.”

“Liv,” Fin argued, “We've seen the footage. No VW in the alley. Do you think they took Carisi across the street to their car?”

“They'd have been way too exposed in that case,” Rollins agreed. “There must be something else.”

Thoughtfully, they stared at the forensics report. Pushing her chair back, Rollins got up and crossed over to the whiteboard where they had taped up the pictures recovered from Carisi's phone.

Looking at the one where he lay bound in the trunk, she shuddered, just like every other time she viewed it. The sight of his wrists in handcuffs alone was enough to make her insides constrict, but seeing his breathing had been impaired by the gag made her sick.

“Here's something else,” Benson muttered, going over the forensic report. “There was a synthetic hair among the evidence found at the scene.”

“Oh?”

“A brown to blonde ombre hair, about sixteen inches long,” Benson elaborated.

“It could be from a wig or hair extensions. It's not an uncommon thing for women to be wearing these days,” Rollins came back.

“Right,” Benson agreed, “But we should keep it in the back of our minds. Maybe it'll turn out to be relevant. Until then, I'll go over the licenses,” she declared and ordered, “Rollins, Fin. Go back to the scene of the abduction. Look around. Hopefully, you'll spot something that we didn't notice before.”

“Lieutenant...”

Rollins' helpless tone did little to encourage anyone. Without another word, she picked up her jacket.

Fin, though, did not seem to have any objections as he too got his jacket and followed Amanda. As they strode out of the bullpen, Benson gave them a lingering glance before returning to her office.

 

xXx

 

**Manhattan**

**Saturday, June 25**

 

“What do you expect to find?” Fin asked as they strode into the alley. “It's not like CSU hasn't already gone over this place with a fine toothed comb.”

During the ride, Rollins had been silent, apparently deep in thought. Fin could practically feel the rising tension. As soon as they found a parking space, she jumped out of their squad car and marched to the scene. Now, she purposefully approached the dumpster where she had discovered Carisi's smart phone.

“I don't know,” Rollins groused, barely able to contain her desperate energy. “But I _will_ know it when I see it.”

Looking around, she tried to imagine what had happened and where. Slowly now, both detectives moved further into the alley, looking left and right, until they reached the parking lot. From there, Rollins went the same way back and stopped at the backdoor that belonged to the Cloverleaf. Thoughtfully, she stood there, letting her gaze roam from the street to the dumpster and over to where Fin stood.

“Do me a favor?”

“What favor?” he asked back, ready to do almost anything as long as it served a purpose.

“Help me reenact what happened,” Rollins pleaded. “Go back to the street and take the way Carisi walked.”

“Alright...”

Though he was not convinced, Fin strode past her and turned around the corner in direction of the pizza place. Pivoting around, he strolled along the street. When he came level with the alley, Rollins was waiting for him. Seeing her shrug, he walked on, passed the alley, and turned back around to meet her.

“And now?”

“Well...” she mused, “What would make you stop?”

Now it was Fin's turn to shrug.

“Do it again,” Rollins demanded. “C'mon. For me.”

Rolling his eyes, Fin obeyed, walked toward the pizza place, turned, paused. Trying to put himself in Carisi's place, he imagined the late night street, pedestrians, cars passing, the streetlights and the shadows. Then he walked back. Level with the alley, he stopped. He looked into the alley.

“Something suspicious.”

Rollins nodded.

“What could that be?” she queried.

“A dispute,” Fin said. “I hear excited voices.”

“Someone's fighting,” Rollins chimed in. “Two men.”

“A man and a woman,” Fin corrected, starting into the alley. “A situation I'm sure I can handle. With two men or more, I'd be more likely to call it in right away.”

“Right,” Rollins nodded, following him. “So I'm interrupting the argument. I ask the woman if she's alright.”

There they paused.

“What about the woman?” Rollins asked.

“What about her?”

“If this was a spontaneous crime,” Rollins mused aloud, “and Carisi stepped in to help her... Then why didn't she call the police?”

“She was glad she got away.”

Somehow, his answer did not seem to convince her.

“What if she was one of them?” Rollins asked.

“What if she wasn't a she?” Fin asked back. “Remember the synthetic hair CSU found?”

“You mean, one of the kidnappers wore a wig,” she followed his train of thought, “To lull Carisi into a sense of security?”

“Or to lure him in in the first place,” Fin suggested.

“That implies intent.”

“Yeah. Which would also fit in with his phone being bugged.”

Heaving a sigh, Rollins reached up to rub her hands over her forehead. She was getting a headache.

“Alright... I've planned this, so... I must know how to get away from here.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” Rollins snarled back.

“Why plan this?” Fin challenged. “Why abduct Carisi? I mean, it's not like he's from a wealthy family. You can't extort ransom from a cop.”

“I don' t know!” Rollins screamed. “Okay? I have no idea! That's what I'm trying to figure out!” Frustrated, she threw up her hands. Her voice shook slightly when she speculated, “The job, most likely. Being cops we make quite a few enemies, and Carisi is no exception.”

With long strides, she went over to where the cars stood. The parking space was at the dead end of the alley, a high chain-linked fence separating both sides.

“Where are you going?” Fin queried when Rollins vanished between the parked cars.

“I'll be right back!”

Squeezing past a green Volvo, she stepped up to the fence. On this end, it appeared sturdy and untouched. There was no door in the fence either. Slowly walking along the woven wire, Rollins searched for any irregularity. Approaching the wall, she was about to declare this a lost cause as well, when she hit the fence with frustration.

It gave way.

“What the...?”

Examining the wire closer, Rollins discovered a carefully cut out opening that was held in place by tiny metal clamps that she had totally missed at first sight.

“Fin?” she called out for her partner. “Look at this.”

“What did you find?”

“Here.” Removing the last clamp, Rollins opened the makeshift door. Looking up at him, she read the same astonishment on Fin's face. She slipped through the opening and he followed her.

“Someone went to an effort,” Fin stated.

“Yeah,” Rollins nodded. “It reeks of intent now.”

By now, Fin was inclined to agree with her.

With wide, more energetic strides, Rollins walked down the passage toward the street. Turning back, she let her view roam around the alley and tried to imagine what had happened here.

“Someone could have waited here. Or the getaway car was parked here,” she theorized. “They've knocked Carisi out and brought him here through the gap in the fence they had prepared.”

“I'm pissed that CSU didn't find this,” Fin grunted, bending over to have a second look at the opening. With his phone, he snapped a couple of pictures. When he made a step back to pick up one of the clamps with a glove he had pulled from his pocket, he could feel that he had stepped on something and heard a snapping sound.

“They didn't search for it,” Rollins replied. “They searched the alley where his phone was found. Nobody thought of checking beyond the parked cars.” With her rising agitation, her voice rose, “We've been so dumb! We've lost so much time investigating in the wrong direction!”

“We didn't neglect other angles,” Fin absently replied.

“But those weren't our priority,” she shook her head miserably. “We should have paid more attention to every possible scenario.”

Only when she turned to look at Fin, she noticed that he stared at something at his feet.

“Amanda?”

His tone already made her hairs stand on end, but it was the expression on his face that made her headache worse. Crossing over to him, she followed his gaze to what he had found. The sight made her heart clench painfully and drove tears to her eyes.

Among gravel and litter, a few beads cracked by Fin's shoe, lay a rosary.

 

xXx

 

**unknown location**

**Saturday, June 25**

 

When he was finally allowed to lie down on the hardwood floor of the central room of the cabin, Carisi could hear the sounds of the late night news drifting over to him. As nobody deemed it necessary to take the handcuffs off, he awkwardly positioned himself on his side. The blindfold also remained in place. While his legs slowly relaxed a little, his arms began to hurt.

His attention was piqued when he heard the news anchor mention the NYPD. The news turned out to be a public call in the case of a missing officer.

_Myself._

Carisi choked at the realization. It was Saturday evening. Two whole days had passed and the police did not seem to be any further with the investigation.

_They said missing, not abducted._

Feeling pressure in his eyes, he tried to choke his grief down. He hoped that his colleagues kept his family in the loop and that his relatives were safe. It had been a while since he had been in an earnest relationship. So at least he did not need to worry about the safety of a girlfriend.

Surprised, he noted that he fleetingly thought of Barba.

_A somewhat weird idea, even though there clearly is more to him than the egomaniac facade suggests._

A tiny smile tugged at his lips.

_Counselor Barba seems ruthless, but his determination in his fight for justice and his sass are just protections he mounted around his soft core._

_And he looks absolutely gorgeous in pink._

Scowling under the blindfold, Carisi contemplated his last thought. Admittedly, it was not the first time that he noticed the prosecutor's flashy wardrobe, but since when did he think of him as gorgeous?

His awkward position soon made his neck and his back ache as well. It was impossible to fall asleep like this. Repeatedly, he tried to readjust his position, but he had no success.

How much time had passed, he did not know, but at some point, he felt the need to go to the toilet. Knowing that his only chance was to alert one of his captors of his predicament, he did not react to the urge right away. Only when his need became pressing, he caved.

“Sir?” Carisi said into the dark, assuming that one of them did sentry duty.

“What?” a grumpy voice asked back.

“Sir, I need to go to the bathroom.”

For a long moment, everything remained silent, but then, Carisi heard footsteps and that someone was fumbling with the lock and chain. Then someone took hold of his left arm.

“Come.”

Awkwardly, Carisi got to his feet. His captor led him to the bathroom. He heard him open the lid of the toilet and waited for the man to release his ties. Unfortunately, that was not what happened.

_No_ , he inwardly groaned when the man opened the drawstring of his pants and reached inside to free his member. Carisi was brought into position and ordered to 'take a piss'.

Feeling thoroughly humiliated, the detective did as he was told.

After finishing the business, the guard led Carisi back to his place and fastened the collar chain to the wooden post.

“Get back down,” the man ordered when his captive remained standing.

“Sir,” Carisi murmured, trying to keep his voice as meek as possible. In order to succeed, he had to appear nonthreatening. He was anxious to find out if his request would even be heard. “Is there any chance to bring the ties to the front for the night?”

Carisi waited with bated breath, focusing on the breathing of the man in front of him. It seemed to take forever until he got a reply.

“Nothing in the world is free,” Pat said, his footsteps approaching. “You want me to make your life easier? Fine. What do I get in return?”

_What you get in return? What could I give you that you haven't already taken?_

A storm of diverging emotions raged inside of Carisi.

“What about obedience?” Pat suggested lightly. “Hm? So far, we've seen nothing but stubbornness from you.”

_I seriously doubt that you'll see anything else_ , Carisi thought. _I'll fight you any way I can._

“What do you expect?” the detective huffed, hoping that he did not get himself into an even worse position. “You've kidnapped me. You're holding me captive and abusing me. Are you really surprised I'm being stubborn?”

Granted, he did not expect Pat to laugh.

“Stubborn, indeed,” his captor chuckled. “Well, you _will_ be obedient... eventually.”

Of course, Carisi inwardly rebelled against the statement, but a small part of him already knew that he would likely have to bow to them in order to survive.

“Sir? It was just a request,” he stated, hoping that he could appease him enough to let it slide. “Could I ask something else?”

After a moment of contemplative silence, Pat agreed.

Relieved that he did not bring another punishment down on himself, Carisi asked, “Sir, could you give me my rosary?”

Surprised silence followed his request.

As the blindfold prevented him from reading his captors' expressions, he could only rely on what he heard and that was not much. After a long moment, he heard footsteps and a grinding noise, twice. More silence.

“It was in my suit,” Carisi stated for good measure.

“It's not here,” Pat informed him. He stepped up behind Carisi and took hold of his bonds. First, he hooked another chain up on the rings before he removed the old one.

“Down,” Pat ordered, emphasizing his command by giving his captive a shove.

So Carisi first knelt and then sat on the wooden floor. Another shove made him fall backwards. As he fell on his back, he noticed that the new chain was long enough to accommodate his arms at his sides. He could stretch out but could not lift his arms as his own weight held them down. He jerked when he felt someone move his legs.

“Stop that!” Pat hissed, hooking the shorter chain between his captive's ankle cuffs. “And now keep silent.”

Just for a second, Carisi wanted to reply that it had been a reflex. Being ordered to keep silent, he choked it down. Instead, he listened to retreating footsteps and the creak of the couch when at least one of them sat down on it. Then, everything was silent.

Still under the influence of the latest events, Carisi lay wide awake, unable to find rest. Occasionally, he heard the wood of the cabin creak. Outside, a breeze ruffled the trees. A hoot outside made Carisi think that there might be an owl, and he wished he could fly away with it.

As it was, he could not even change his position. With his ankles fastened at a short length, he could not support himself to turn. He probably could have propped himself up on his elbows and tried to roll around, but to what avail?

Carisi contemplated trying to bring the chain connecting his wrists down and out from underneath him. If he could bend his legs close enough to his body so that the chain would not catch on them, then he could use his hands. With his hands on the front, he might be able to remove the chains that were tethered to the cuffs with carabiner hooks only.

_Even if I should manage that, I'm still shackled to the wooden post. Somehow, I'd have to remove the collar chain._

With sinking heart, he had to accept that he had to postpone any attempt at escape. The way Pat had tied him now at least allowed him to stretch out. As wracking his mind about his situation remained fruitless, he prayed. Even without the familiar feel of the rosary's beads between his fingers, it calmed him and after another hour or longer, Carisi fell asleep due to necessity.

 

xXx

 

**Manhattan SVU**

 

Putting the evidence bag with the rosary down on her desk, Benson asked, “Carisi's?”

“Likely,” Rollins shrugged. “Or do you think it's a coincidence?”

“We won't know for sure until the test results are back,” the lieutenant told her. “My own opinion? I think that you're right.”

Sitting back in her office chair, Benson pinched the bridge of her nose. It had been a long day, but it would likely be a long night as well. She was tired. There just was not enough coffee in the world.

Rollins had called CSU back in to consult. Dutifully, they had examined what the detectives found and taken everything they secured to the lab for testing. Among other things, they took swabs off the rosary in the hope to find DNA. They also dusted it for fingerprints, but they were still working on those.

Gathering evidence took time.

So did canvassing the area.

Rollins and Fin asked around on the street, in the surrounding buildings, everywhere. They also pulled the footage of all traffic cameras in the street and found a shop with a camera in the vicinity of the driveway.

It was close to midnight now.

A soft bing alerted Benson to an incoming message.

“We've got the traffic cameras' footage,” she announced.

“Good,” Rollins declared, “I'll have a look at it.”

Leaving Benson's office, she strode over to her desk and slumped into her chair. She intended to watch the DVD with the shop's surveillance video first.

“I'll watch with you,” Fin offered.

“No, Fin, I've got this,” Rollins declared. “Look, why don't you bunk out for around an hour or two, okay? We could take turns watching. I'll wake you.”

“Alright.”

While Fin retreated to catch some sleep, Rollins began to watch the video footage. She had watched about half an hour, when she noticed that she was no longer retaining anything she had watched. Rubbing at her eyes, she moaned. Instead of repeating the work, she wondered if she should leave it to Fin. A look at the clock on her computer told her that not much time had passed.

_I can't afford to cave to tiredness. We've lost enough time as it is. I've got to keep watching and find a lead that will take us to Carisi!_

Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes for a moment. Massaging her temples, she tried to stave off the headache that had been a constant occurrence all day.

_Are you in pain?_ she asked the emptiness that was left behind by the missing detective.

She did not want to think it, she really did not. The thought just came over her.

_No! Go away! I can't!_

Shaking her head, she attempted to chase the thought away that threatened to paralyze her. Giving in to emotions was the last thing she could allow herself.

_What do they want from you?_

Her insides constricted with the question.

“Why would anyone want to kidnap you?” she wondered aloud. “They don't want you dead, otherwise, we'd have found you lying in that alley.”

A sigh escaped her. So far, everything just was speculation.

Rollins just stood from her chair to go and get herself some coffee when she spotted a woman approaching the bullpen. Inwardly, the detective groaned. Right now, she could not deal with a new victim, she just could not. Trying to gather whatever compassion she found in herself, she met the woman when she entered.

“Hey,” the newcomer said. “Can you tell me what department this is?”

Still struggling for compassion, Rollins introduced herself,

“I'm Detective Rollins and this is Special Victims Unit. How can I help you, Ma'am?”

“I think I'm in the right place then. Sean sent me,” the woman said. “I'm looking for the cops who were at the Cloverleaf recently.”

Electrified, Rollins tried to curb her excitement.

“I was there with my partner,” she told the woman. “You can speak with me. Let's sit down.”

Leading her to her desk, Rollins sat down with her and asked for her name.

“Sean told me that you were looking for me.”

All of a sudden, Rollins felt a chill on her back, suspecting the connection.

“We are searching for witnesses,” Rollins explained to her. “Sean certainly approached you, because he thought you were at the Cloverleaf on the night in question.”

“Possibly. I'm often there,” the woman chirped.

“I'd like to include my lieutenant in on this conversation, if you don't mind,” Rollins declared. “I'll just let her know that you're here. Then we can talk, Mrs...”

“Hathaway,” the woman filled in. “Candace Hathaway. But call me Candy. Everyone does.”

 

tbc...

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! Let's celebrate with a new chapter. Thank you all for your support so far. Enjoy!

**Manhattan**

**Sunday, June 26**

 

Incapable to find rest, Rafael Barba poured himself another finger of scotch. Sitting in front of the glass, he thought that he probably should stop drinking before he gave himself alcohol poisoning. Picking up his cell phone, he sent a text message.

Shortly after sending it, he received an answer:

 

_We're still at the office. A possible witness came forward. I'll fill you in tomorrow. GN, Liv_

 

Staring at the display for a moment, he waged an internal battle before coming to a decision. In the end, he got up from the sofa and left his apartment. A cab took him to the precinct.

Upon entering the squad room, he instantly noticed that Benson still was in her office. At a desk far to his right, two detectives were at work, not acknowledging his presence. Barba approached the lieutenant's office and knocked at the open door.

Surprised, she looked up from her paperwork.

“Rafael!”

“Hey, Liv,” he greeted, smiling sheepishly.

“What are you doing here?” she queried with undisguised astonishment.

“I'm sleepwalking.”

Cocking her head to the side, she eyed him intently.

“No, seriously, Rafael. What are you doing here?”

For a second, his features turned into a mask of misery as he thought about the real reason why he came to the precinct.

“I don't want to be a bystander. I want... I want to be involved.”

“You're not a bystander,” Benson assured him, but it did not even convince herself. “I've always kept you up to date, have I not?”

Barba remained unimpressed, asking, “Who's the witness?”

“A woman who was at the pub on Thursday night,” Benson explained. “It's possible she saw the attackers. She's with Fin now, trying to puzzle a composite sketch together.”

“Well, at least that's more than you could tell me the last time,” Barba scoffed and asked about her statement. “What did this witness have to say?”

“Miss Hathaway told us that she met a man at the Irish pub. He invited her for a drink, but when he asked her to accompany her outside, she hesitated. Apparently, he got a text message right before he tried to coax her into coming with him. Consequently, when she declined his invitation, he left without her. It wasn't until later, when she exited through the pub's backdoor to have a smoke, she noticed a commotion.”

“A commotion? The backdoor of that pub led to the alleyway where they took Carisi, didn't it? What did she see, Liv?”

“She didn't see anything but she did hear men engaged in some sort of argument,” Benson relayed. “She did not want to be involved and retreated back into the pub.”

“I see,” Barba huffed. “And that's relevant how?”

“When we showed her a line of photos, she recognized Carisi.”

Thoughtful silence fell between them.

“Could she identify anyone else?” Barba finally asked.

“No,” Benson shook her head. “Her description of a _fairly tall and bulky man_ suggests that Mosley might have been one of the attackers, but it's never enough to make a positive identification.”

“Anything else?”

For a moment, Benson contemplated telling Barba about the rosary they had found, but refrained from it in the end. Crossing over to the attorney who still stood in her doorway, she said, “We'll run the sketches against the database. Hopefully we'll get a match.”

_Hope. Is that all we can do at this point? Hope?_

Still it was better than nothing and Barba hoped Liv was right. He hoped for a match.

“So that's it? Does this witness' testimony help you make any sort of assessment`?” he queried.

Taking a good look at her friend, Benson thought about her answer. “Well, now, we have reason to assume that Carisi was taken on purpose.”

That statement hit Barba like a punch in the gut.

“You mean to say that he wasn't in the wrong place at the wrong time?” he pressed. “That he was targeted?”

“Rafael...” Benson muttered softly as she took him by the arm and drew him into her office, closing the door behind them. “You know what one of the first things we do when someone goes missing is?”

“You check their last known location and canvas the area.”

“Yes, that, too. But we also check all of that person's social media, see if they've posted something that includes a geotag, that sort of thing.”

“But the kidnappers left his phone behind at the scene, which was his last known location so why does it matter what he does on social media?”

“It's just that, you know, there was a lot of it: Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, and Foursquare. He was even logged in on his work computer which, despite being against the rules, actually helped us get access to all his accounts. And because we had quick and easy access to his accounts, we found that he had checked into Foursquare shortly before he was taken. Couple that with the Trojan horse program we found on his phone. It shows clear intent.”

All of a sudden, Barba heard a rush in his ears. _Intent?_ That was hard to stomach. Why would anyone want to kidnap an NYPD detective?

 _Two days have gone by already,_ Barba thought. _Dios Mio! Most kidnapping victims don't survive the first twenty-four hours. The first forty-eight hours are crucial. Once too much time has passed, the leads go cold._

Right at that moment, Barba struggled to remain optimistic.

Not knowing what to say or do, all he could do was to not stay still. Walking as if in trance, he turned and headed out of Benson's office. As he pulled the door open, he noticed a uniformed officer enter the squad room. Half a second later, Fin approached with Miss Hathaway from the other direction.

“This officer will take you home, Ma'am,” Fin assured her and sent her off with their uniformed colleague. Just for a second, he glanced at Barba, recognizing his presence, then he went over to the whiteboard to put up the two sketches they had made. “Alright, everyone,” he announced, “we're searching for Laurel and Hardy.”

Actually, the sketches bore no similarity to the comedians.

“She told us that this one,” Fin pointed at the left picture, “is about two heads taller than the other. Aside from that, I'm not sure if her description is accurate in any way.”

“She seemed confident about creating the sketch,” Benson noted.

“Well, that's what I thought, too, before we got started,” Fin grunted, “but the program's features that are meant as a mere tool for composing the sketch turned out to be misleading once we got more than the shape of the face. She hardly was capable to tell whether either of the men had light or dark hair, every nose available seemed to fit, the same applied to the lips... and that's only the start of it.”

“So she's unreliable,” Barba cut in.

Throwing an unreadable look at him, Fin shrugged. “At least she was willing to help, Counselor.”

Unfortunately, pure willingness alone would not get them any further.

Barba had hoped he would hear someone say that they were making progress, but apparently, that was wishful thinking. His view roamed over the information the team had gathered on the whiteboard and came to rest on two photographs.

During one of their phone conversations, Benson had told him about the pictures CSU found on Carisi's phone, but this was the first time he saw them.

The sight made his insides constrict and the color drain from his face.

_Cojoya! This makes it all so much more real. Evidence of the abduction. That's a car trunk, isn't it? Por Dios, Carisi, what did you get yourself into?_

Barba felt his heart thump in his throat as he eyed the photo closer that showed Carisi tied up and unconscious.

 _That's dangerous,_ he thought miserably. _Especially with the gag, they're running the risk that he suffocates. Tied as he is, he's utterly helpless. What if he had become nauseous and vomited?_

Abruptly, his thought process ended there.

“Why did you withhold this evidence?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady, hearing it sound hoarse instead.

“I didn't...” Benson puffed. “Rafael, I'm sorry. I've told you about the pictures. I didn't want to burden you with the sight, th-”

“That's not your decision to make,” he hissed, his green eyes fiery when he turned to her. His shock turned into anger that needed an outlet and the lieutenant happened to be available.

Benson could relate to the rage he had to be feeling. For her, as well as every other colleague on the squad, those pictures were a constant reminder of what was at stake. Thankfully, she did not have to bear the brunt of his fury for long as they were soon interrupted.

“Counselor?”

Honest surprise echoed in Rollins' voice when she came from the bunk room and found their prosecutor present in the middle of the night.

“Detective.”

“So, these are our suspects?” Rollins queried as she eyed the sketches.

“That's a good question,” Fin scoffed. “At least that's what Miss Hathaway settled on in the end.”

“Was there a problem composing the sketches?”

“Problem?” Fin rolled his eyes. “I wouldn't call it a _problem_ when each and every shape and color fits.”

“We've got to make the most of what we've got,” Rollins sighed. Pulling one of the chairs closer, she sank into the seat. Propping one arm up on the armrest, she rested her chin on her hand, eyeing the whiteboard thoughtfully. From there, her gaze drifted to Barba who was looking at the photos once again. Of course they all knew how dedicated he was to his job, but his presence now, in the wee small hours, was rather unexpected.

Benson's cell phone binged.

“Morris just informed me that traffic surveillance lost the VW,” she forwarded. “The license scanners also didn't garner further results.”

Both Fin and Rollins made frustrated noises. They had been elated when they spotted the silver car leaving the driveway on the CSV footage.

“Where was it last seen?” Fin asked.

“Heading north,” Benson said. “It was last registered on Henry Hudson Parkway. We can't determine, though, whether it continued on to Yonkers or took another direction.”

An awkward silence fell over the squad room.

Still studying the pictures, he could not help but to memorize every detail of how the detective lay unconscious, Barba had listened to their conversation. Like everyone of the squad, he tried to remain optimistic, but circumstances made that difficult. Now, he could virtually feel the resignation roll off the detectives.

“We've lost him,” Rollins tonelessly stated. “He's dead.”

Everyone's attention shifted to her as she slumped forward in her chair, arms hardly able to support her on her thighs, and her expression one of resigned misery. Grief stood in her eyes that tried in vain to focus on the whiteboard.

Nobody spoke.

Both Fin and Benson stood speechlessly, each harboring similar thoughts, yet unwilling to agree with Rollins.

 _That's not what he deserves!_ Barba thought with righteous anger. _Liv, why aren't you reprimanding her? You can't possibly think she's right? Have you given up on him? He'd never give up on you. He's not given up on me!_

“He's not dead!” Barba snapped when the silence became oppressive. Glaring at the cops in turns, he vented his anger on them, “Whoever took him, went to quite an effort to get to him. They've planned an elaborate trap. As long as there is no body, Sonny is still alive.”

His words were exactly what Benson had desperately tried to form in her mind. Nobody wanted to give up. Every lead they had been following had so far come up empty and that was enough to wear even the best investigators down.

Surprised, she noted that the counselor used the detective's nickname that he had never uttered before. Apparently, that fact was not lost on the others either, judging by Fin's raised brow and Rollins' wide eyes, still nobody mentioned it.

“They've taken him out of the city,” Barba went on, and each of them was stunned by his fervor. “For me, there's only one reason why they should do that: because they're not done with him. Somewhere, somebody's holding Carisi captive, putting him through who knows what. So stop wallowing in misery!” Taking deep breaths, he forced his voice not to break. “Tienes cojones! C'mon! Pull yourselves together! He's counting on you to find him. You're the best squad I know. You've never given up, so don't start now!”

Stunned silence settled over them in the wake of his speech.

Fueled with fresh determination, Benson declared, “You've heard the man. Get to work.” When her eyes met Barba's, she gave him an apologetic smile, “Sorry, Rafael. The situation's hard on all of us.”

“I know,” he relented. “Still... we can't give in, no matter how hopeless things might appear.”

Nodding sadly, she agreed, “We'll find him.”

Barba desperately hoped that she was right. For what seemed the hundredth time in a matter of minutes, he looked at the picture of Carisi's unconscious form bound in the trunk. He felt the icy hand of despair clawing at his heart. Not so long ago, he had relied on Carisi during some of his darkest hours. Despite his protests and blustering, the detective had been there for him.

_And I've never even thanked him for it._

Guilt gnawed at Barba. He knew he had a reputation for being unapproachable and his protesting against a security detail after Heredio's death threats prove it. The fact that he did not want to be followed everywhere had nothing to do with heroism but with his furious dislike of losing his privacy. Unfortunately, the detail turned out to be necessary. For a couple of days, Barba seemed to be living on borrowed time, and Carisi stood by him through all of it.

_Like he's promised at Dodd's wake. He kept his word._

Finally prying his eyes off the pictures, Barba straightened with new resolve.

_We'll find you. I promise._

Barba intended to keep true to his silent vow.

 

 

**Flashback**

 

**One Hogan Place**

**six weeks prior**

 

As so often lately, Barba watched with resigned annoyance as his security detail gave his office a once over before he was allowed inside the room. They did that with his apartment as well, each and every time.

Barba hated it!

"They're just doing their job," Carisi told him unnecessarily.

"I know," Barba snapped back. "I just wish their colleagues would do _their_ job properly and catch the bastards who are threatening me, so they," he gestured at the two men in black gear currently searching his sanctum, "can be home with their families."

Carisi sighed. That shot was aimed at him and the squad as well as every other cop who was involved, or not involved, in the investigation. After weeks of little to no progress, everyone's nerves were strained.

Heredio was not talking. All he said was that he got two hundred and fifty bucks for each time he threatened Barba. They did not know who paid him, they did not know who gave the order, they did not know who was behind it.

They knew nothing aside from the fact that the attorney's life still was in danger.

No fingerprints were found on the letters. No voice could be matched to the calls. No phone could be traced.

"All clear," one of the detail officers announced.

"Finally," Barba groaned and entered his office. Actually, he just needed to finish one motion and get a couple of files before he could call it a night. It was long past office hours and his assistant, Carmen, had already gone home. Once he was done, he wanted a drink to calm his nerves and head home. Why Carisi had offered to accompany him, was beyond him but he appreciated it more than he cared to admit.

With a sigh, Barba sank into his chair. As he leaned forward to reach for the forms he needed, he heard a clicking sound.

"Wait!" Carisi called out, alarmed. Instead of sitting as well, he walked around the desk, impressing on Barba, "Don't move."

"You're joking!" Barba scoffed, yet went rigid, his gaze fixing on Carisi.

"Wish I was," Carisi replied and called out for his colleagues, "Did you hear that, too?"

One of them already stepped around him and crouched down to look under the prosecutor's chair.

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl.

Barba just stared at Carisi who squatted beside him now, both men holding each other's gaze. Carisi was startled by the sparks of fear in the attorney's green eyes.

"Counselor," the officer checking out the situation calmly addressed him, "He's right. Don't move."

Barba's mouth went dry.

"You're going to be fine," Carisi told him firmly. "Just keep still, and everything will be alright."

"Still..."

Only one word, but it held all the terror Barba felt as it left him on an exhale.

Helplessly, Carisi crouched at his side. At a loss of words, he reached for Barba's hand, squeezing it gently. From behind, he heard officer Maybrick on the phone, calling in the bomb squad.

"Detective Carisi," officer Diehl turned to him as he stood back up, "you should leave."

"No."

"Detective," Diehl said. "It's not..."

"Forget it," Carisi cut him off. "I'm staying."

Still holding Barba's gaze, he just adjusted his position a little.

"He's right, though," Barba agreed with Diehl, "You don't have to be here."

"Wild horses couldn't drag me out," Carisi shot back, "Just wait and we'll be out of here in no time. You'll see." Barba grimaced in response and Carisi was not sure what he should read into his expression.

Just for a moment, the detective looked around at Diehl, his fiery eyes demanding an explanation. _This could have been prevented,_ his look said.

"Carisi," Barba tried to argue. "There's no reason why both of us should get killed."

"Nobody's going to be killed," Carisi firmly told him and instantly saw the objections coming, "Just shut up. They know what they're doing. Just..."

"Don't move?" Barba cut him short. "I'm trying."

"You'll have to do better than that," Carisi challenged, "or it'll be your fault when our guts are splattered throughout your office."

"You're a well of encouragement, Detective."

"And you're a pain in the ass."

"So are you," Barba returned the accusation, "still nobody wants to blow _your_ brains out."

"Guess my Italian charm makes the difference," Carisi smirked.

"What charm?" Barba scoffed. "Those platitudes you rattle off?"

"Well, better than having no concept of flirting at all."

From behind, Carisi heard someone chuckle, and with that, their banter ended. Still, he tried to hold Barba's gaze, aiming to convey confidence. Apparently, he was not very successful as he saw the attorney retreat into himself.

“Hey, Barba,” he said, “What about that motion you mentioned? Should I fill it out for you? Then we're ready to go once this is all over.”

“I beg your pardon?” Barba fired an icy glare at him.

Inwardly, Carisi cheered, knowing he regained his attention.

“What? You think I'm not capable to write a motion?” he scoffed, challenging, “Want to dictate it?”

“Why write the motion?” Barba snarked, “Tomorrow, someone else will be sitting on my post. Or should I say appointed, since sitting is apparently my downfall.”

“Did I miss your retirement party?” Carisi shot back.

“Not yet,” Barba retorted, “but you should forsake the fireworks.”

“Fireworks are canceled, Counselor,” Carisi stated matter-of-factly. “So... what about the motion?” He reached for the papers and a pen and looked expectantly at the prosecutor.

Rolling his eyes, Barba was about to play along, but then, he spotted the specialist of the bomb squad in his protective gear approach. All color drained from his face.

“It'll be over in a minute,” Carisi declared, tapping the pen on the tabletop. “Motion. Now. Unless I should do it all on my own. I mean, I have my law degree now after all.”

Prodding Barba repeatedly about the motion, Carisi kept him distracted while the bomb disposal expert worked.

“Secured!”

Hearing the redeeming announcement, Carisi smiled at Barba. “See? All done. Motion finished. Let's get out of here.”

“What was it?” Barba demanded to know as the bomb squad officer passed them.

“We won't know for sure until after the analysis,” the officer replied. “The pressure on the seat activated the mechanism.”

“Plastic explosives?” Carisi asked.

“Looks like it,” the officer confirmed. “I have to take this out of here.”

“Sure,” Carisi nodded and the officer left the counselor's office. “Now... Let's go, too.”

“Okay,” Barba agreed. Gathering the papers that he needed into his briefcase, he stood and followed Carisi out. In the hallway, they ran into Benson.

“Rafael!” she called out. “Thank God!”

“I'm fine, Liv,” Barba assured her. “Still in one piece. You didn't need to come.”

Glaring at her friend, Benson then turned to Carisi. “Looks like we'll have to reevaluate the situation. A two-men detail might not be sufficient.”

“Liv, I can hear you,” Barba groused. “I'm standing right next to you.”

“I know,” she shot back. “You shouldn't go home tonight. We'll get you a hotel room.”

“No way,” he snarled. “I'll sleep in my own bed. Thank you very much.”

“Don't argue, Rafael,” Benson told him. “Your apartment will have to be thoroughly searched in order to guard against further surprises.”

Groaning, Barba rolled his eyes.

“He could stay over at my place,” Carisi offered.

“Thanks, but that won't be necessary,” Barba all but snapped.

“Oh yes, it _is_ necessary,” Benson declared.

“So it's settled?” Carisi asked and Benson nodded.

“Hey!” Barba frayed. “Don't I get a say in this?”

“No,” Benson and Carisi replied in unison.

Huffing with annoyance, Barba crossed his arms over his chest. By now, Diehl and Maybrick also were back at his side.

“I need to go to the restroom,” Barba stated. “If you'll excuse me?”

Of course, they did not excuse him. Maybrick even led the way and went in first to make sure that no threat awaited the prosecutor on the toilet. Once he declared the place safe, Barba went in, Carisi close on his heels.

As he stepped up to one of the washbowls, resting his hands on the rim, he noted with gratitude, that the detective had closed the door into his detail's faces. Carisi inclined his head and Barba offered him a small smile in return.

Lowering his head, Barba took a couple of deep breaths. His hands rather clawed at the washbowl instead of supporting him, and he felt his knees go weak.

Though he wanted to give the counselor the space he needed, Carisi furtively watched him. If he was being honest with himself, he could very much relate to him right now. His own stomach still churned with the tension. For Barba's sake, he had put on a brave face and did his best to distract him, but inside, he was trembling as well.

Seeing him struggle now, Carisi acted on instinct, stepping up to him and pulling him into his embrace.

Stunned, Barba did not resist. Feeling the detective's arms wrapped around him, he tensed for a moment, but then his trembles overwhelmed him, letting him sink into Carisi's hold. Gradually, listening to the detective's breathing, his heartbeat slowed.

For how long they stood like this, they did not know, but when Carisi sensed Barba tense again, he let go of him. Parting, they shared a short look. While Carisi turned away with a cough to cover the surge of emotions he was feeling, Barba went into one of the stalls. Leaning against the wall, Carisi waited. After a couple of minutes, he carefully asked, “Counselor?”

“I'm fine,” Barba readily answered. “Just need another moment.”

“Alright.”

While he waited, Maybrick stuck his head in to check if everything was alright. Carisi chased him back out and urged Barba to get finished.

When they finally emerged from the restroom, Benson awaited them, letting them know that no additional officers were available at the moment. Against Barba's protest, they drove directly to Carisi's place. Maybrick and Diehl insisted on going in first, checking everything before they gave the detective the all clear.

“Finally,” Barba sighed when Carisi closed the door on them and they were on their own.

“You want to be alone with me?” Carisi teased.

“Just rid of my shadows,” Barba replied. “I'm sick of being followed everywhere.”

“The alternative is less desirable,” Carisi shot back, showing Barba to his bed. He did not have a real bedroom, only a corner of the one room of his apartment that was separated from the rest by a white shelf. Only the kitchen and bathroom were separated by walls. A curtain offered privacy.

“It's not big, but it's mine,” Carisi shrugged an apology. “I'm sure you'll be comfortable here. Bathroom is over there,” he nodded at the door. “Alright, for tonight, you can borrow clothes from me,” Carisi stated, opening the wardrobe and pulling two pieces out for himself. “Tomorrow we'll get some from your place.”

“Terrific.”

“Why don't you freshen up and I'll fix us dinner?”

His initial reflex was to object, but then Barba noticed that he actually was hungry.

“I'll be fine on the couch, Detective,” he said.

“My apartment, my rules, Counselor,” Carisi smirked. “I'll take the couch. It's my favorite place to fall asleep in front of the TV after all.”

Winking at Barba, he turned to go to the kitchen, but added on an afterthought, “Mi casa es su casa.” Then he pulled the curtain closed and went to cook some pasta.

Being left standing in Carisi's bed-, living-, dining room, Barba did not know what to do with himself, so he decided to follow the detective's suggestion and go to the bathroom in order to make himself more comfortable. As he was invited to use Carisi's clothes, but not offered any, he stood in front of the wardrobe, wondering if he should look inside.

_His comment was as good as an invitation, wasn't it?_

So Barba opened the doors and began to inspect the detective's wardrobe. Subconsciously, he sorted the suits and ties in acceptable and less attractive ones. Then he spotted the one suit that he liked best on Carisi. Checking on the label, he suspected that it was custom made and a small smile played around his lips.

Looking at the casual clothes next, Barba decided that sports clothes were best and chose gray track pants. After a quick stint to the bathroom, he made himself comfortable with the trousers and his shirt, rolling up the sleeves and losing his tie.

Upon leaving the bedroom, he found Carisi adding the finishing touches to setting the table, a small, pull-out table that likely doubled as a desk.

"Dinner will be ready in a minute," Carisi declared, now in sweat pants and a light, two-colored hoodie.

So Barba sat in the place where the glass was not filled yet and looked around the living area. The dark teal couch actually was deep with thick, removable cushions. It could easily substitute for a bed.

"Caution, it's hot!" Carisi piqued his attention as he set the bowl with spaghetti Bolognese on the trivet. "What would you like to drink? Wine, beer, or water?"

Barba decided on wine. The pasta turned out to be great and with lessening tension, he could even enjoy his meal. After dinner, he joined Carisi on the couch, watching a mindless scripted reality show. It was strangely relaxing. Soon, he felt his eyelids drooping and he excused himself so he could retire to the 'bedroom'.

In the wee small hours, Barba startled awake in a cold sweat. Breathing hard, he got up and padded through the unfamiliar place toward the kitchen to find something to drink.

"Are you alright, Counselor?"

Pivoting around, he saw Carisi standing behind him.

"God, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Calling me Sonny will be sufficient," Carisi smirked.

“Smartass,” Barba snarked back indignantly. At the same time, he could not help but think that he was not that far off with his first assessment. Carisi still wore his track pants, but he had shed the hoodie, which allowed Barba a quite unexpected view of his bare torso. Bathed in the colorful lights of the city streaming through the window, it made for a heady sight.

Scoffing, he grabbed the can of soda that he found and squeezed past Carisi, heading for the bed.

“Hey, Barba! I'm sorry!”

Pausing at the curtain, Barba turned back around. Carisi crossed over to the sofa and sat down. As tired as he was, he did not have the energy for a fight with their prosecutor.

“It's alright,” Barba sighed, sitting down beside the detective. “I blame the thugs who are threatening me.”

“Okay.”

Carisi leaned back in the cushions and closed his eyes. Ever since hearing the clicking sound when Barba sat down, he was taut as a bowstring. The casual conversation they had during dinner was harder to keep going than usual, and he was grateful that they just sat and watched TV afterwards. Now, in the middle of the night, he was not up for a heavy discussion.

“Thank you.”

The soft words startled Carisi. Sitting back up, he looked around at Barba. The prosecutor's eyes shone with a vulnerability that he had never seen in him before, and it made him uneasy.

“For staying with me,” Barba elaborated, “for keeping me distracted... Thank you.”

Offering him a warm smile, Carisi replied, “You're welcome.”

For a while, they just sat in companionable silence. At some point, Carisi began to talk. He talked about his day, Rollins' antics, the boredom of endless paperwork, and the ludicrous way one of their most recent suspects had run from them in only his shorts. Noticing Barba's eyelids becoming heavy, he got up, never pausing from his story, and got one of the cushions that he then dropped on the floor in front of the couch. Then, he gently guided Barba to lie down and covered him with a plaid blanket. Sitting down on the floor, he made himself comfortable leaning into the cushion.

Barba fell asleep to the drone of Carisi's voice.

 

**Present**

 

**unknown location**

**Sunday, June 26**

 

Carisi awoke with a start to a surge of pain originating in his left calf.

 _A cramp,_ he realized and a groan escaped him through gritted teeth. Something caught on his leg as he tried to move it. He could not see a thing and he needed a moment to catch on to the fact that he was still blindfolded. With that thought came the realization of where he was and why his range of motion was so limited. In a vain attempt to alleviate the pain, he strained against his bonds. At his sides, his arms jerked with his struggles. Still suffering from the cramp that threatened to spread from his calf to his thigh, Carisi bit back his noises of pain best as he could, as he did not want to alert his captors.

Moaning and breathing heavily through his teeth, he stretched his leg, pulling up his toes in order to emphasize the motion. The pain still did not ebb away when he heard footsteps.

“What's up?” demanded Pat's angry voice.

“Nothing... just a... just a cramp,” Carisi pressed through gritted teeth, wishing he had not garnered the man's attention. “S-s-s...”

Pat huffed.

“P-p-please...”

Writhing, Carisi fought for relief. With his ankles being shackled at a short length, he could not achieve anything. Gritting his teeth, he arched his back in an attempt to straighten the sore muscles. Tears of agony soaked the blindfold that prevented him from noting whatever happened around him.

Consequently he jerked violently when Pat grabbed at his legs, unhooking the ankle cuffs. He felt his left leg being lifted up and stretched as well as a hand on his calf, massaging the sore limb.

Still gasping for every breath, Carisi regained a semblance of control. He heard Pat's footsteps retreat and approach again. Then a firm grip on his left upper arm forced him to sit up. At once, Carisi felt other muscles threatening to tense up, and he straightened his leg to try and prevent it.

To his astonishment, the chain holding his wrist cuffs got unhooked as well.

“You need to drink,” Pat declared, guiding his left hand until he held a bottle. “Here. But touch the blindfold and you'll lose a finger.”

Right at that moment, Carisi hardly registered the threat. Awkwardly, he unscrewed the bottle and took a tentative sip. Seeing that it really was water, he drank more to quench his thirst. Only when he took the first gulps, he realized just how thirsty he was.

“Okay,” Pat interrupted. “That's enough.”

When he took the bottle from Carisi, he kept hold on the right wrist cuff and a moment later, Carisi heard a carabiner clicking in place.

 _Now it'll get uncomfortable again_ , he thought miserably.

Resigned, he did not struggle when Pat brought up his left arm, pushing it together with his right one. Another clicking sound and a double carabiner held his wrists together.

_In front! Where's the catch in that?_

“Lay down and sleep,” Pat hissed. “And remember... You touch the blindfold, you'll lose one of your digits. Got me?”

Finally catching on to what Pat said, Carisi nodded.

“Y-yes, sir,” he whispered. A _thank you_ lay on his tongue, but he bit it back. His mother had taught him manners and using them was instinctual but he was not about to waste his good manners on a man such as Pat.

Slowly and carefully, Carisi stretched out on his right side. With his tied hands, he awkwardly shifted his position until he could rest his head in the crook of his arm. Curling in on himself, he hoped to find rest.

The wooden floor creaked when Pat walked away and sat back down on the sofa, stretching out to catch some sleep.

Where Carisi lay, any position was uncomfortable. Several times, he tried to readjust and yet could not find a position where his bones did not press on the wood, making sleep elusive. Every inch of him hurt one way or another, and his soul ached for some kind of compassion. Any kind of compassion.

Another night spent on a floor came to his mind. Back then, he had propped himself up on a sofa cushion, right next to his couch that was occupied by Barba, who had ended up at the detective's apartment after a bomb at his office had almost torn the both of them apart. CSU had later determined that the device had been a fake, fitted with modeling clay instead of explosives, but at that point in time, they had not known that.

Later that night, Barba had awoken and was so agitated that he could not get back to sleep. So he ended up on the sofa, Carisi sitting with him, talking, trying to calm him down with nonsense. It worked. After a while, the drone of his voice lulled Barba to sleep.

_What wouldn't I give for someone talking to me now. Someone who assures me that everything will be alright. That I'll get through this._

It was wishful thinking.

Right at that moment, only his mind offered a fragile sense of peace. Imagining a courtroom, and pretending to sit beside their prosecutor during a session, took his mind off his predicament. Listening to Barba's closing argument, he drifted off to sleep.

 

tbc...

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait, everyone! It's because I caught a fever... a crocheting-fever. After making a hat, two scarves, an octopus hat and a freeform hood (check out TwistedHatter and OfMars, their crochet works are awesome), the need to fumble around with yarn and hook has subsided enough for me to concentrate on chapters again. LOL Also, your feedback encourages and helps me to tackle more of the story.  
> And now I'll better hit the "post" button before I change my mind. Enjoy!

**unknown location**

**Sunday, June 26**

 

In the early morning, Carisi was torn from his dreams as he was yanked up to his feet. Battling the last remnants of sleep as well as finding himself incapable of sight, he was about to panic when he recalled that he had been blindfolded. Struggling with his equilibrium, he staggered along, suspecting that they were heading towards to the bathroom.

As he was brought to a stop, Carisi felt cool tiles under his feet and a tugging sensation that indicated that the men were unclipping the carabiner that hooked his wrist cuffs together. There had to be two of them as they swiftly moved his arms to his back to retie them there. Feeling someone reach for the drawstring on the track pants, he instinctively shied away. Still, part of him knew he needed to communicate if he was to attend to some of his more basic needs.

He cleared his throat.

“Sir?” he asked, aiming for a much more confident tone than he heard himself utter. Part of him hated being so subservient, but he knew that he needed to comply with as much as he could possibly bear in order to survive. His soul hurt, but there was no way around acknowledging the inevitable, “I... need to take a shit.”

_Ooops, that was a little on the stubborn side._

Carisi feared retaliation of some kind, but there was not even a reply. He could only assume that the men shared an annoyed, maybe questioning, look, maybe shrugged their shoulders. All he knew for sure was that whoever was with him now, continued to undo the drawstrings, pulling on them a bit more roughly than necessary, causing the detective to sway a little. Then Carisi felt himself being abruptly turned around and the pants being pushed down his legs. Strong hands on his arm guided him onto the seat.

_Terrific_ , he inwardly scoffed, surprised by his choice of expression. _Looks like Barba's favorite sarcastic remark rubbed off on me._

For a terrifying moment, Carisi wondered what their prosecutor might think if he saw him now, knew what he was being subjected to. _Would he be appalled? Would blame me? I'll lose whatever respect he has for me._

His heart ached with that thought.

_What would everyone think? What about Rollins? She'd know I had no choice. My parents? Not so sure. They certainly have less understanding of what it's like to be a captive. Not that I have, current experiences aside. We claim to understand when talking with victims, but really... we have no idea._

Perceiving the tension throughout his whole body, Carisi could not even begin to describe how he felt as _mortified_ seemed like such an understatement. Admittedly, the most humiliating moment of this situation was yet to come, but its anticipation already gnawed at him. Hearing the distinct sound of rubber on skin, he tried to determine what the men were doing.

After emptying his bladder, he concentrated on his other task. _Better do it as quickly as possible_ , he thought, but that was easier said than done. Spending just another night on the bare floor had made all his muscles sore, so he groaned with the effort.

One of the men chuckled.

'Let's switch places and see if you're still chuckling.'

Hearing the little devil in the back of his mind snark at him, made it a little easier for Carisi to bear the situation. As the devil's voice sounded more and more like their Cuban American prosecutor, he came to think of it as his _internal Barba._

A forceful hand manifested itself as it gripped his hair and strong-armed the detective’s head backward so his neck was exposed. Gulping painfully in the man’s grip, Carisi’s nerves were on end as he heard the familiar click and whir of an electric razor. Whomever was manipulating the shaving utensil was not gentle. As the shaver was pushed along quickly, it caught on the hairs of the detective’s chin and cheeks. 

  _If they want to keep me pretty, Carisi thought, this isn’t the way to do it. My cheeks are going to be red and irritated with razor burn. Though they probably already know that._

At least they did not take long to finish with his face and he was able to concentrate on the reason he had been sat down in the first place.Another groan escaped him when he was finally able to move his bowels. Only a moment after the tale-telling splash, he heard the ripping of toilet paper and felt a hand push between his legs.

Sucking in a sharp breath through his nose, Carisi did his best to stifle sounds of abject loathing. While he did his best to focus on how quickly the man dried him off, he suppressed further utterances except sharp breathing.

With the anticipation of what was going to come, Carisi gritted his teeth and tensed even more when a hand was placed on the back of his neck. Roughly, he was bent forward and held down with his head between his knees. Instinctively, Carisi struggled, and the fingers dug even harder into his flesh, pressing him down with fervor.

_As if I'm a toddler being potty-trained._

As the other man efficiently wiped him off repeatedly, Carisi could feel the texture of rubber gloves covering the man's hands. Curiously, concentrating on the details of the act made it seem less intrusive. Actually, Carisi wondered if his captor had experience in handling other people's private business. Maybe he was a nurse's aide.

_Or worse... this isn't the first time he's handled a captive like this._

Once he was declared finished, they moved Carisi off the toilet and pulled the track pants back on, which was little consolation for the detective at this point. As much as he would have loved to go through his usual morning routine, or at least brush his teeth, he did not believe it would be a good thing for him to ask his captors to assist him with that bit of hygienic maintenance Judging by how they had just handled him, Carisi suspected that the last thing he would want them to do would be to undertake that task as well. And, after his previous experiences with the banana, he did not find it in himself to trust any of them with putting something into his mouth.

Deprived of further hygienic acts, he was shoved out of the bathroom. Still blindfolded, Carisi awkwardly padded along in the men's hold until they made him sit on a chair. Then they released his ties only to put his arms around the backrest and shackle him up again. Reflexively pulling on his restraints, the detective listened to retreating footsteps and the sounds coming from what must be the kitchen. More footsteps and clanking noises in front of him, likely from dishes, followed by the clatter of cutlery, made him assume that someone set the table. At some point, the sounds of chairs being moved told him that the men were sitting down for breakfast.

Confused, Carisi realized that they had him sitting at the table with them. Why they should do that was beyond him. Their casual chatter and sounds of eating turned into background noise as the detective focused on identifying singular sounds. For a moment, it took his mind off his current predicament. Breathing in deeply, he could tell that someone had prepared fried eggs and bacon.

“Here,” Pat's voice sounded beside him.

Something touched Carisi's lips and his olfactory senses told him that it had something to do with peanut butter. Reflexively, he wrinkled his nose.

“You can go hungry if you don't want it,” Pat stated dryly as he pushed it against Carisi's lips again.

Reluctantly opening his mouth, Carisi took a bite of the toast spread with peanut butter that Pat held out for him. With mixed emotions, he tasted honey as well which made it marginally better. No matter what it was combined with... he just hated peanut butter. For a fleeting moment, he wondered whether his captors knew that.

Suspecting that Pat would remain true to his word and refuse to give him anything else, Carisi obediently took what he was given. Gladly, he washed his meal down with the water that Pat granted him afterward.

After they cleared the table, Carisi did not hear anyone near him for a while and used that chance to try and reach the chain that was hooked into his wrist cuffs. The sturdy leather cuffs did not allow his wrists full motion, but he managed to grab the chain. Pulling on it, he found the hook and tried to fumble it out of the steel ring on the cuff. With growing anxiety, Carisi fingered the shackle. He had not heard them lock the collar chain, so if he could undo that hook, he might have a chance to get out.

Suddenly, a hand was in his hair, brutally bending his head back. Due to the strain, Carisi let go of the manacle and his arms caught on the handcuffs.

“What do you think you're doing?” Roy hissed into his ear.

Feeling his hopes fall, Carisi resorted to the Cuban snark that he heard in his mind, “Morning exercise.”

“Don't disrespect me,” Roy snapped, shoving Carisi forward violently, almost making his head bounce onto the tabletop. “You know the rules!”

_The rules._

Jolts of pain that surged through his tense muscles due to the sudden motion jerking on his arms and neck, reminded him quite ostensibly of said rules. Forgetting to address his captor correctly as sir in his retort had been an accident, but Carisi was still not inclined to demonstrate respect towards Roy now, because if there was one out of the four whom the detective despised most it was the short, weasel-faced man.

“Don't you have anything to say?” Roy prodded.

_Like what?_ Carisi inwardly spat. _Apologize?_

Of course, he knew that it was a rather stupid thing to do, but he never was one who could keep his mouth shut, so he snarled, “If you're waiting for an apology, you can wait until hell freezes over... Sir.”

Pause.

It became so silent in the cabin that all Carisi could hear were his breathing and his heartbeat.

Holding his breath, he waited for the inevitable.

Still, the yank on the collar chain that roughly toppled him to the side took him by surprise. The chair fell, making him trip and stumble as he had no choice but follow the pull on the chain. As he stumbled, the chair's backrest slid out from between his bound arms. Robbed of his balance, Carisi crashed on the hardwood floor. Defenseless, he lay on his side, his arm momentarily paralyzed by the impact, as a kick hit his chest, driving the air out of his lungs.

“Roy! Knock it off!”

Panting through gritted teeth, Carisi curled up on the floor. Though he seriously doubted that Pat's intent was to come to his rescue, his command had at least stopped Roy from kicking. Still fighting for air, Carisi listened to his captors.

“It was necessary,” Roy scoffed. “He shows no respect.”

“I'm sure he got the message,” Pat shot back.

Roy made an angry noise.

Carisi heard shoes stomp the floor and furious breaths, then the footfall retreated. As he was still blindfolded, he could only try and interpret the non-verbal communication and imagined Roy being sent out of the room, which he noted with a spark of satisfaction.

“Get up!”

With some effort, Carisi tried to follow the order and another tug on the collar. Arms still bound behind his back, it was a difficult task, and he might have slumped back down if it was not for the relentless pull of the chain. Awkwardly sitting up, he struggled onto his knees and from there to his feet.

_Oh, shit!_

A moan escaped him as pain flared as soon as he tried to breathe in deeply.

“Take a deep breath,” Pat ordered, reaching out to palpate the detective's ribs.

Feeling his captor's hands on his bare ribcage, Carisi flinched which resulted in more pain.

“Might be cracked,” Pat stated. “Happy now?”

“No, sir,” Carisi groaned. Somewhat nauseous from the pain, he wished he could sit back down.

“You got Roy's message, didn't you?”

As he was not keen on getting another of his ribs broken, Carisi agreed, “Yes, sir. I got it.”

“Good,” Pat sneered, patting the detective's cheek. “Then we can begin now.”

_Begin?_ Carisi choked. _What are they up to? Another beating? Assault? Please don't!_

While he still wracked his mind about what their plans might be, Pat led him over to the support beam and shoved him down on a seat. Carisi felt the man tamper with the wrist cuffs. His back bounced against the wooden post as his arms were pulled back around it and the shackles were hooked back together. In this position, he could not move an inch, let alone reach the ties that held him firmly in place.

Carisi still did not know what they had planned, but he dreaded finding out.

 

xXx

 

Escape.

It dominated Carisi's thoughts while he waited for whatever his captors were going to begin. Right now, he was helpless but, eventually, he had to figure out how to get rid of his bonds, especially the chain fastened to the collar around his neck.

_Eventually_ _,_ he inwardly groaned. _That's what Pat alluded to, right? That I'm going to do time here? He wasn't specific about_ _the term_ _of my sentence in any way. How long do they want to keep me here? Indefinitely?_

An electric tone piqued Carisi's attention and the voice of an anchorman broke the relative silence. Listening to the news, he dismissed most of the subjects, but hearing the current date made the detective's insides constrict.

_It's Sunday? Sunday! It feels much longer than that!_

A shudder coursed through him.

_I lost track at some point on Friday. Everything else merges... into suffering._ There his train of thought almost derailed. _And it will become worse._

Sickened by his musings, he almost missed an announcement on the news, a public call about his disappearance and that whoever had any information should report directly to Manhattan SVU.

“Did you hear that, piggy?” Roy snickered. “Your colleagues are clueless.”

Someone switched off the TV.

“They should just give up,” the dark, menacing voice of Cody chimed in, “spares everyone the trouble.”

“Yep, they won't find him anyway,” someone whose voice Carisi did not recognize yet snickered.

“You disposed of the car as instructed?” Pat queried.

“Of course,” Cody sneered, making his comrades laugh. “Hope they'll have fun with it.”

“In case they even find it.”

Once more they erupted in laughter.

_Now you're laughing,_ Carisi thought. _Let's see who'll be laughing in the end, when my squad is bringing you down._

The detective knew better than to let his mind linger on the question of whether or not he would be alive to witness it.

_Can't witness anything, blinded as I am. Damn!_

Being put thoroughly on edge, Carisi listened intently as footfall indicated someone's presence beside him.

_If they thought that blindfolding me would have the same effect on me that it has on most animals, the darkness fooling them into the belief that they were safe, they're very much mistaken._

Flinching, Carisi pulled back from a sudden touch brushing his cheek.

“You're easily startled,” Pat chuckled. “Didn't expect that.”

Feeling his stomach muscles flutter, Carisi tried to breathe as silently as possible and determine what he had to expect, a futile attempt.

“Alright...” Pat mused aloud, pulling a chair up to sit opposite his captive.

When a hand came to rest on his knee, Carisi all but jerked his leg away. Of course, Pat noticed that his muscles flexed, which made him chuckle again.

“Easy, Junior,” Pat soothed in an annoyingly jovial tone, “I'll only punish you when you deserve it.”

Inwardly, Carisi scoffed, speculating in which instances he was _deserving._ Once more, he got the impression that he was being subjected to some sort of training.

“Well, then... Detective Third Grade Dominick Carisi Junior,” Pat began. “Who are you?”

“Sounds as if you knew who I am, sir,” Carisi replied cautiously as he was uncertain about what to make of that question.

“Well, it's true that I know a lot _about_ you,” Pat came back readily. “You were born on April 20, 1980, on a Sunday. Parents: Dominick Carisi Senior and Berenice Carisi, though her maiden name was Criscione. A very Italian heritage you have, don't you?

Feeling a prickling on the back of his neck, Carisi listened to the information Pat rattled off, apparently knowing them by heart.

“But those are just simple facts,” Pat said, “They don't tell me _anything_ about the man you are. Why don't we start out easy? Your nickname.”

“My nickname?” Carisi parroted. Now, that was hardly a secret. His colleagues even teased him about offering it so readily when introducing himself. To his own astonishment, he found himself reluctant to share it now. _Better to be called Sonny than Junior. Already loathe that when family does_.

“Sonny,” Pat declared with a touch of exasperation, “It's Sonny. You know, the thing is... _you_ should be telling me that.”

Under the blindfold, Carisi scowled, about the man's words as well as the hand that still rested chummily on his knee. _Oh, how much I'd love to break that hand. Would be a pleasure to knock your amusement off your face as well._

“Who named you Sonny?”

Audibly drawing in air through his nose in protest, Carisi thought about the question before he admitted, “Actually, I don't know. That's always been my nickname since I was small.”

His hope that his captor would accept that answer was crushed as Pat kept prodding, “Alright, but families talk about this sort of thing. Someone must've brought it up.”

“Yeah, but I don't remember.”

“Maybe one of your sisters?” Pat suggested. “Teresa is the eldest, right? I could imagine her hearing your parents talk about finally having a son and her, in turn, calling her baby brother Sonny.”

“I wouldn't put it past her.”

Instantly, Carisi regretted the reflexive shrug that accompanied his words. With his arms stretched back around the sturdy, tree-like post in the center of the cabin, he could hardly move. Though it was likely, he suspected, his wrists would be hurting like hell by now if they were still stuck in metal handcuffs and not the wide, padded leather restraints.

“You sound annoyed.”

“Not with Teresa,” Carisi stated, oblivious to how his words could be interpreted. “I love her. She's just so...”

“I see,” Pat drawled, “You're annoyed with me.”

“What?” Carisi blurted. “No, sir.”

“Sounded like it.”

“No...”

_How the hell did I manage to piss him off?_ His gut churned. _I need to be more careful._

“Seeing how Teresa's calendar is full of events where she could possibly meet a wealthy bachelor,” Pat continued, “I can imagine why you have differences.”

Hearing that, Carisi's heart sank. A nagging suspicion filled his mind that perhaps his captors knew so much about him because one of them had dated his sister, maybe pretending to be a wealthy suitor in order acquire informaiton on him. He became actually aware of just how well these men could be informed. Of course, he had already suspected that they must have been observing him for some time already in order to get to know his habits but such private things were another matter.

“And how often has Gina been engaged by now?” Pat fired his next question.

Startled out of his musings, Carisi mumbled, “Uh... like ten times, I think.”

“That sounds about right,” Pat agreed.

Confused, Carisi wondered, _Is he fact-checking what I'm saying? How?_

“Which of your sisters are you closest with?”

“Bella.”

“Still having problems with Tommy?”

Taking a deep breath, Carisi wracked his mind about what they might know. Did he have problems with Tommy? Not since sorting out the troubles with his brother in law's abusive parole officer. So he answered truthfully, “No.”

“Was it hard for you to investigate his case?”

_They actually know about that?_

“Tell me about it,” Pat chided. “I won't ask again.”

“Sir, it's...” Carisi paused, reluctant. What should he tell them? “It's not the investigation was hard. It was... accepting that what Tommy claimed was the truth.”

“Go on,” Pat ordered.

_More details? Really?_ Still, Carisi relayed, “It's a rather unusual crime, a woman raping men.”

“And yet, your brother in law became a victim.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How did you feel about that?” Pat demanded to know.

It was a serious question that Carisi did not really ask himself back then. However, he was reluctant to answer that question now knowing that he, himself, would most likely be finding out exactly what it felt like to be raped in the near future. Not wanting to acknowledge the relevance to his own situation, he deflected by asking, “Why do you care?”

The words had not quite left his mouth when Pat backhanded him across the face, making his cheek smart. Still, Carisi would not answer.

Another slap on the other side threw his head around.

“You will answer direct questions,” Pat demanded, “without any delay. Understand?”

Apparently, Carisi took too long thinking as a third slap hit his cheek.

“Conflicted,” he gasped. “I felt... conflicted, sir.”

“How so?”

Wracking his mind for a quick answer, Carisi already anticipated another slap when he blurted out, “I was angry, at first. I was angry with Tommy because I blamed him. I blamed him for bringing shame on my sister. It was bad enough he, an ex-con, had gotten her pregnant.

“But then I found out that Tommy was arrested, violating his parole, and cheated on my sister in addition.” Taking a deep breath, he went on, “So at first, I couldn't believe what he told me about what happened. I thought it was a ruse. Back then, I was new with SVU and unaware that it is possible to... ah... perform the act at gunpoint, but it turned out to be the truth: he was raped. Since then, I've tried to be supportive of Bella and Tommy.”

“Good,” Pat stated, leaving open whether he agreed with Carisi or if he was pleased with the detective's readiness to answer.

Carisi just hoped, he was content with his reply.

“So... you're convinced of it now?”

“Of what exactly, sir?” Carisi asked back, anxious because despite the circumstances, he was letting his emotions distract him and he had not been paying attention a hundred percent.

“That men can perform under duress,” Pat clarified. “Are you convinced, Junior?”

Carisi choked.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“You don't sound like you believe it,” his captor taunted. “I think, we should prove it to you sometime soon.”

Mouth going dry, Carisi felt a chill run down his spine.

' _Did he just threaten you with rape?_ '

_Yes, he did,_ Carisi ruefully confirmed his devil-on-his-shoulder's assumption. Not knowing how, he did not react to the statement.

“I'm sure you are quite experienced in that department,” Pat went on undisturbed, “How many women have you been with?”

Inwardly fuming, Carisi sat begrudging the blindfold that kept him from glaring at his captors.

Slap!

His hurting cheek made him contemplate the number... but he needed longer to remember than Pat was willing to allow.

Slap!

_How many? Can't think!_

Slap!

“Eleven!” he cried out, uncertain if that was correct. _For Heaven's sake! I should be able to function under stress! What kind of cop am I?_

“Are you sure?” Pat prodded, but all Carisi could do was not. “Answer aloud!”

“Yes, sir,” Carisi ground out. He could virtually hear the evil smirk in his captor's voice.

“Eleven? You're thirty-six. That would make you an extraordinary specimen of a man,” Pat mocked.

“A pretty sad one, too,” Roy cut in devilishly, adding lecherously, “You must be in desperate need.”

_Oh, come off it! I know eleven isn't a big number but I've never been desperate. Some of us have morals and prefer not to get physical unless in a relationship. Women aren't conquests, asshole._ Carisi fumed silently.

Trying to keep a straight face, Carisi did not want to give his emotions away in case Roy decided to take advantage of the perceived 'lack' of the detective's experience. Choking at the idea of Roy forcing himself on him, he imploringly hoped that this was the end of this discussion. He tried to flex his aching arms, however, he was not lucky enough to relieve the tension building up in his strained muscles.

“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” Roy demanded to know.

Swallowing the lump of repulsion that suddenly stuck in his throat, Carisi fought to get the words out. Still not fast enough, he earned himself two more cuffs on his ears.

“Seventeen,” he groaned. “I was seventeen.”

Roy laughed, “Late bloomer, too!”

Slap!

_What was that for?_

“And here I thought, you were fifteen,” Pat scolded. “Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not lying,” Carisi shot back. “I was seventeen... two nights before my eighteenth birthday.”

“I could've sworn you were fifteen,” Pat snarled, “with your classmate... what was her name?”

Now it dawned on Carisi what Pat meant.

“Oh! Melissa,” he hedged, furiously wracking his mind how Pat could possibly have heard of it, “I neither denied nor confirmed it when the other boys claimed we did it. But if you must know, nothing actually happened.”

After a moment of contemplation, Pat seemed to accept that Carisi was not lying.

“So, you were seventeen then, huh,” he went on, “Who was the lucky girl?”

Carisi felt his cheeks heat up with the memory as he admitted, “I... wouldn't say she was a girl.”

Pat made an appreciative noise. “So you were introduced by a more experienced woman. Lucky you. Who was your Mrs. Robinson?”

“Her name was Ellie,” Carisi answered, not as readily as it might seem. “And she wasn't that much older than me.”

Roy snickered wickedly, “But she was an adult, right? You know what that means, don't you? She committed statutory rape!”

_I was not raped. The age of consent is seventeen,_ Carisi thought ruefully. Though way back then, he was not aware of that fact. Talking led to flirting, and Ellie teased him that he would soon be a man... and somehow, they ended up sneaking away to find a calm place where they spent the night together. In the wee small hours, he had snuck back home.

“How did you meet?”

“She's... a friend of my sister's from college. There was a party. We've talked... then one thing led to the other and we... did it.”

“Cute,” Roy scoffed.

“How old was she?” Pat queried, really sounding curious.

“It's not polite to ask a lady about her age,” Carisi retorted, “sir.”

Chuckling to himself, Pat let his evasion slide.

However, that was not the end of the conversation. More and more questions ensued. Over the course of the interrogation, Carisi repeatedly tried to keep information to himself or alter it, but each time, he had to endure physical punishment. When Pat seemed to get bored of slapping his face, he used something else, something that inflicted a sharp pain on the detective's chest, his arms or legs whenever it hit there.

“Seriously?!” Carisi snapped after finally reaching his limit. “I know you said this was my prison but if that is true, I can't help but to feel you're doing a shitty job with the reenactment, _sir.”_

Slap!

Before Pat deigned to acknowledge the statement, Carisi had to take three more open-handed slaps to his face. Sure that his face was red and his lip was bleeding, he almost wished that Pat would close that fist and just punch him hard enough to knock him unconscious.

“I never said this _was_ a prison,” Pat told him snidely, “I said you should _think_ of this as a prison and to follow the _guards_ ' directions.”

“Why are you doing...?”

Carisi never got to finish his question due to the hand hitting his cheek again.

“You don't get to ask questions,” Pat scolded. “You get to answer truthfully.”

Hearing Pat get up and walk away, Carisi first thought he was granted a reprieve, but that hope was short-lived. The footsteps returned and the detective felt Pat take hold of his right arm, manhandling it in a way that he could thread a rope through. The same happened to Carisi's left arm. When the rope tightened, he felt how it caught his arms right above the elbow, exerting pressure on his joints and shoulders.

A groan of pain escaped him and he miserably hung his head. With a firm grip to his chin, Pat brought it back up again. Then he fired his next questions. Which school did you go to? Which high school? Did you go to college? What followed next?

Finally, the questions momentarily halted and the four men went to eat their lunch, Carisi was left out. He also was not offered water and asking only resulted in more slaps. After lunch, the game continued. When did you start at the police academy? How long have you been a street officer and where? How did you become a detective and why? Why did you want to be transferred to SVU? Why did you begin studying law?

At some point, Carisi thought that another question was worth taking more pain and started to ask, but Pat stopped him before he got even half of it out.

“You really don't get it, do you?” Pat snickered, grasping the detective's chin to make him hold his gaze. “It's such an irony that you're working together now.”

It was then that it fell like scales from Carisi's eyes.

“Actually, you're quite cute together,” Pat rubbed it further in. “You really connected, right? What is he to you? Your mentor? Or is he more than that?”

_Barba!_

Instantly, Carisi's insides hardened to a painful lump with the realization that the prosecutor had to be the connection to whatever case Pat kept referencing.

Stroking Carisi's arm as if to soothe him, Pat told him, “Now, answer me: What is Rafael Barba to you?”

“We're colleagues,” Carisi relayed. “You could say he's my mentor, too. I admire his determination and relentless pursuit for justice.”

“That sounded differently when you tried to sweet talk your way out of this,” Pat recalled. “How did you describe him? You said he's an ass?”

“Well, he is,” Carisi stated. “Quite full of himself, too. Sarcastic to a T. And a good man.”

Pat chuckled.

“Does he know you're bisexual?”

“I'm not...” Carisi began to protest but trailed off in order to reign in his rising voice, “bisexual.”

“Well, looks that way from where I'm standing,” Pat shrugged.

Carisi really would have liked to know what Pat thought to have seen, but he was not inclined to ask because he was sick of hearing how closely those men had been observing him. His aching limbs also discouraged him from pursuing the matter. His sexual preferences were his private business and not up for discussion with his abductors.

“Don't try and deny it. I know the whole story. You were out with your fellow students,” Pat went on undisturbed, “And you met that young man, Hispanic by the looks of him. He invited you for a drink, asked you to dance... and apparently you rather enjoyed yourself.”

A memory rose from the depth of Carisi's mind, and he dreaded what else Pat might know.

“You seemed to enjoy his kisses, too.”

Carisi scoffed. “I was drunk.”

“Oh, really?” Pat sneered, “In that case, you shouldn't have been driving.”

To his infinite chagrin, Carisi felt heat rise in his cheeks and knew that he blushed. _Damn, that's happening too easily._

Of course, Pat delighted in his blush and prodded, “That's not where the story ends, is it? Because that man wasn't the first guy you kissed. So Junior, tell me, how many male partners have you had?”

This time, Carisi sensed rage beginning to boil.

“Actually, that's none of your business,” he all but snarled, “sir.”

Adding the formal address could not prevent that Pat backhanded him across the face.

“Everything is our business,” Pat told him harshly. “When will that finally go into your head, huh?”

Gritting his teeth, Carisi wracked his mind about what he should tell Pat, who definitely did not buy his 'I'm straight' crap. Mostly straight was vague. How did you define _occasionally attracted_?

“I didn't have partners,” Carisi groused hoarsely, guiltily thinking of some of the occasional dates he had gone on.

“I see,” Pat nodded thoughtfully, “And who's Leandro Alvez then?”

Hearing that, Carisi choked. That was a name he had not heard for ages. _How the hell can he know about Leandro?_

“He... was a friend,” Carisi told him. “At college,”

“I see... wasn't he more than that?” Pat queried. “Leandro was your boyfriend, wasn't he?” Seeing his captive's discomfort, Pat pushed further, “I think I see a pattern there. Can you see it, too?”

“What pattern?” Carisi tonelessly asked, his voice almost giving out. He could not comprehend how those men could have so much information about him.

“Hispanics,” Pat stated as if it was most obvious. “They seem to be your type.”

“I don't have a type,” Carisi remarked stubbornly. “I'm straight.”

Pat snorted, “Yeah, straight with a preference for men.”

 

tbc...

 

 


End file.
